


No Light, No Light

by TheGoldenAppleofAsgard



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: All Pitch's fault, Alternate Ending, Angst, Apparently..., Blame him, Darkfic, Drama, Dubious Consent, Evil fabulous Diva, GAWD PITCH MAKE IT SCHTAHP!, M/M, Melodrama, Not me., That somehow spiralled into sheer craziness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:44:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 65,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGoldenAppleofAsgard/pseuds/TheGoldenAppleofAsgard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Such hostility, Jack.” Blue eyes widened uncertainly as Pitch moved, if possible, further into his personal space, a scant inch between their noses as fingers far above the degree of his frigid body temperature soothed almost gently across the tender skin of his brow, melting the delicate layer of frost there, “A pity...”  </p><p>---</p><p>What if, in the end, it took more than a child's simple wish to conquer the Darkness?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, first post here. I'm well aware of the many ways in which I can screw this up so all I can do is cross my fingers, and every other crossable body part I possess and wish (AhahahaHAHAHAHAHAHA! Yeah right.) that everything will work as intended. As I said, fully prepared to screw this up...

The sky above was dark, blended seamlessly into the shadow that seeped along the alleys and crawled across the street, only split by jagged forks of bright white light that tore the clouds apart, doing more to frighten the small cluster of children cowering behind the remnants of the Guardians, than to reassure them of their safety. This light in the darkness was no comfort of any kind and with no Dreamweaver to protect against the onslaught of Nightmares, there was much to be frightened of.

Pitch was a malevolent silhouette against the bright spark of the lightning, revelling in the despair that was drawn to him from the hearts of those below, the proud steed that bore the King of Nightmares kicking impatiently at the rooftop as it stared down at the weakened gaggle of supposed immortals with hunger in its molten eyes. The fear was intoxicating, imbuing the air with a heavy scent that only increased as the loud clatter of horse-hooves bit crescents into the road, followed swiftly by the hushed voices of the fearlings, the whisper of black sand swallowing the ground inch by inch as the darkness circled in close. Streetlamps failed, long twisting tendrils stretching high to steal the light, the Moon long since drawn behind the blanket of Night.

Jack looked up from his defensive position in front of the wilting form of the Guardian of Wonder, North crouched heavily over his sabre as he fought to keep upright, Tooth tucked under his arm as she gave her last strength to keep him on his feet. Her wings fluttered uselessly at her back and the usual streamline that was her feathered form in flight looked diminished set upon the ground. Somewhere behind them, Jamie whimpered, small arms wrapped tight in terror around the twitching bundle of fur that was Bunnymund, the other children huddled together, fingers clutched into the excess fabric of North’s luminous red coat, eyes darting nervously from shadow to shadow, glassy with fear.

“Still don’t believe in the Boogeyman?” The sharp note of triumph in Pitch’s voice rang out in the still air, crisp and gloating and Jack raised his staff, fresh frost blooming across the length of it as his grip tightened, eyes slit in suppressed anger. 

“You’ve tipped the balance too far. There’s no fear without hope, Pitch! You need the Guardians!”

“Quite wrong, Jack.” The sharp enunciation of his own name sent a bone-deep shiver down the length of the Winter Spirits spine but he held himself rigid, “They need me. Without fear, there cannot be courage, or caution, or common sense. I have always been. Fear has always been. Without me, there is only chaos.”

“And this isn’t chaos?” Lightning shone in the pale of Jack’s hair, silver strands turned to pearl in the sudden flash as he swung his arm wide in a sweeping gesture to the burning glint of golden eyes waiting in the wave of black sand like fiery torches in the dark.

“No, Frost,” A cruel smirk curled the shadow’s on Pitch’s ashen face as he leaned forward ever so slightly, the Nightmare shifting beneath him, tossing it’s fluttering mane with a snort, “This is just a bit of fun.”

A loud shriek from behind made the younger spirits head turn fast enough to cause whiplash, pink lips parting in an unintelligible yell as he swung his staff high, not fast enough or close enough to break the thick twisting ropes of dark sand that wound tightly around little Jamie’s legs, dragging him up into the cold, bleak open air. Hazel eyes were wide in fright and in his arms, Bunnymund pawed at the colourful stitching on the humans’ pyjama shirt as he tried to settle the boys madly beating heart, “It’s alright, Mate. We’re alright.”

The normally cocky twang of the Australian accent wavered uncertainly and Jamie squeezed his eyes shut, small body curling up into a ball around the tiny form of the Guardian of Hope.

“The good thing about belief is that it must have time to spread,” Pitch had moved in mere seconds, shadows extending ragged fingers to curl about him until he was indiscernible in the dark and his sharp smile and malicious eyes were fixed on the dangling ten year old mere feet in front of him like wriggling bait on a hook, “Time I am not inclined to give you.”

Clenched eyes sprung open wide and Jamie let out a high-pitched noise of distress as coils of shadow wound down from his trapped ankles, face paper-white with fear that Pitch seemed to breath in like a cloud of soothing incense, “Five delicate little annoyances and your oh-so-precious last light in one place is not so much a threat as a joke.” The Boogeyman’s laughter seemed to creep from every corner of the street, something that began as a soft bubble of glee growing to an echo that could torment souls and Bunnymund scowled from the tight clasp of Jamie’s arms, unable to do much in defence of the poor child, “Pick on someone your own size!”

Long smoke-shaded fingers reached out to tug tauntingly at an overlong ear and Bunny hunched down with something akin to a squeak as Pitch leaned in close, teeth startlingly bright in the lack of light, “You’d make a fetching pair of slippers.” Jamie cried out again, cradling the small Guardian closer as if his very safety resided in the little rabbit, eager to protect what he could and the thought alone was enough to twist the Nightmare King’s lips at the naiveté of youth.

“Well, this has all been very entertaining...” A snap of the fingers was all it took, the shadows that snared the boy pulling tight and dragging him into the dark, mouth opening wide in a bloodcurdling scream as he watched himself slowly disappear, whisked into the terrifying clutches of Fear itself, the last of him to fade an extended reach of twitching fingers as he stretched towards the stricken form of the one who restored his belief.

“Jamie!” Jack reached out as the struggling figure was swallowed up, vanishing into thin air, the deafening scream the only proof that he had been there at all. The winter spirit launched himself skyward after the retreating cloud of Nightmare sand as it carried away his first Believer, grasping fingers not close enough to catch anything but a useless handful of glitter.

“Jack, no!” Tooth’s voice was world’s away, the rush of Wind in the Sprite’s ears overloud as he reared back, shaking the remnants of the sand from his skin, head spinning as he frantically sought out some sign of Jamie or Bunnymund. None were there to see, the roll of thunder a deep feral growl before lightning split the sky, nothing left but equine shapes against the black, “Jack, come back, please!”

Pitch was nowhere to be seen, and Jamie’s last frightened note faded into the night much as he had. The Nightmares however, had different agenda’s, nickering as though communicating with each other as they prowled above ground, two making a sharp beeline for him as though he were a marked target, separated from the pack of stragglers in the middle of the street. The fine snowy hair at the nape of his neck tickled as if cold as he noticed the intensity in their lamp-like eyes.

These ones wanted blood.

One managed to wriggle in near enough for him to feel the disturbance of cool air against his cheek as it kicked too close for comfort, its fine powdery tail whipping against his face in passing. Jewel eyes slammed shut , the gritty sensation on his tongue and under his lids making him recoil violently as he scrubbed at the sand that clung to him, certain at least a little of it had already wormed its way down his throat. His eyes burned, blinded as he held his staff high, one arm protecting his face as the braying and snorting creatures surrounded him, many of them it seemed as they finally managed to drown out the rattle of the storm.

“Jack, get out of there!” North’s voice was much quieter than he had ever heard it, distance stealing its strength and Jack chanced to look up, eyes still stinging as though salted and through the blur he could see the many spores of dark sand that surrounded him, glinting in the air like dark little fireflies. They spun, dancing in circles, forming a sparse orb around his floating body that was closing in fast, the Mares kicking more of the foul stuff at him in volleys. Jack held his breath, fighting to get out of the trap that had been set but each way he went, Nightmare sand bit at his skin and the Mares used his distraction as weakness. The slow tingle in his fingers rent a horrified cry from his dry throat, the first sign that something was sorely wrong, and the blue of his hoodie was fading under the black of the dust that attached itself to him.

“I can’t... Help!” His skin felt dirty, tainted and a slow, heavy feeling overtook his limbs, a delayed sort of lethargy that plucked at his energy reserves with thieving little fingers and wound itself around the staff in his hands like the first spun threads of a cocoon.

“Pitch!” The angered shout was lost in the storm, now directly overhead with no rain to wash away the black that spread like ink over his hands and tangled in his hair. The hood that he pulled up to shield his face was no longer its normal faded shade of Caribbean blue but it was better than the noxious fume of darkness that swarmed around his head.  
“You look in need of a nap, Frost.” The whisper was silk-soft and very close but Jack could not see through the veil over his own eyes, and if the King of Nightmares did not want to be found, with the game this far in his favour, he wouldn’t be.

A sharp jerk to the back of his sweatshirt urged the Frost sprite to turn, shooting out a sharp stinging spray of ice without any finesse whatsoever, the Nightmare caught in the path of the strike rearing up, sharp hooves planting their full weight into the boy’s chest. Jack let out a distressed yell as his tenuous grasp on the Wind faltered, gravity hooking her torrid little claws into his body and yanking him out of the sky too fast for Jack to catch his breath. The call for aid was caught in his throat, stuck as he plummeted towards the icy pavement without a sound.

“Jack!” He wasn’t even sure if that was Tooth, or North, the frightened crying of the children mixing horribly with the howling of the Wind as she tried to catch her charge and the excited whinny of the Mares as they followed their quarry, determined to finish the job.

Jack closed his eyes tightly, thin body braced for the coming impact from either above, or below, or even both, but when it came it was much softer than anticipated, long arms curling like tenacious snakes around a narrow waist. Those arms held his weight easily and the warmth that accompanied them was just this side of comfortable but as Jack dared to peek open one eye in caution, his suspicions were confirmed, and any relief he felt evaporated. A burning golden gaze fixed on his face, a fount of many emotions. Pitch had never been shy. At the Tooth Palace, the South Pole, in his own Lair, the Nightmare King’s emotions were a brand to be pressed to the skin of all who dared look him in the eye and now was no different, though it was much closer than Jack was prepared for and all the more potent for it. A vicious need to win swirled vibrantly in the dark spirit’s eyes, and a sensual heat that made the winter spirit push back from his carefully held position against the elder, chests intimately flush and one obscenely warm hand indecently low on the Frost Sprite’s back.

“You should have taken my offer, Jack.” Though the voice was smooth and coaxing, sticky sweet like honey drizzled directly onto the tongue, the piercing look he graced the boy with was dark fire, “All of this could have been avoided.”

Pitch could feel the length of the younger spirit against him as that slender body bristled, shadows stretching forth their wisps of fingers to subdue the little Tricksters arms, smoky tendrils wrapped thick around bony wrists and winding calmly up the Shepherd’s crook clasped in the boys restrained hand.

“Such hostility, Jack.” Blue eyes widened uncertainly as Pitch moved, if possible, further into his personal space, a scant inch between their noses as fingers far above the degree of his frigid body temperature soothed almost gently across the tender skin of his brow, melting the delicate layer of frost there, “A pity...” 

Darkness wound around bare ankles, inching its way up as if relishing every piece of pale flesh it stained and Jack kicked, tugging in a hurried and sloppy manner against the shadows that kept his wrists. “Pitch, stop!” His voice was nothing more than a whisper as his weighted limbs were pulled wide and helpless, lips parted in a condensed breath of panic as the shadows climbed higher, carrying with them a searing heat that covered his knees and clung like tightly wrapped bandages. Jack felt himself drawn close to the embodiment of Fear, the feeling soaking into his skin like liquid soap, permeating his bones with a chill he hadn’t felt in an age. The fingers at his brow trailed up, carding patiently through his wind-tousled hair and he squirmed, a low whimper muffled into the shoulder of the elders cloak as the darkness gripped at his hips and leeched up higher. Air was pushed from his lungs in a strangled cry, the heat stifling as it squeezed and lips pressed to the cool shell of his ear, “Don’t struggle, Jack. It’ll all be over soon.”

“Pitch,” His own tongue was solid lead inside his mouth and the terrifying feeling of no feeling at all where the glisten of shadow stained him made every muscle he could still control, tense without his permission, “S-stop...”

It was so hot, unbearable against his skin and as the shadow began to crawl up over his chest, he could finally see it. Nightmare sand seeped upward, climbing over him like spreading paint, the colour of his thin clothing dyed black under the onslaught and the lightheaded sensation that forced his vulnerable body to collapse in his enemy’s hands set off the warning bells in the forefront of his mind. It was past the time for panic but as he opened his mouth to speak, all that came out was a softened whine, no breath left to plead.

Pale fingers tinted under the spread of the sand, the sleeves of his hoodie, his upper arms and all Jack could do as it danced up the column of his throat was close his eyes and sink into the fiery heat of oblivion.

III

Pitch caught the boy fully as the swooning body finally surrendered, cradling the fair face to his chest, dark glitter sprinkling from ruffled hair like pepper, his other hand prying the staff from a limp hand. Such a difference it was, no longer spiralled with the soft sparkle of frost, the length of ancient wood now dull in the brief forks of lightning that continued to carve the sky, nothing more than a shadow, much like anything else, without the boys touch to restore its glory.

His fingers, in complete contrast to before, were starkly pale against the curve of Jack’s sleeping face, the boy completely overcome by the strength of the black sand and it fit to his shape like a second skin. It had taken much of it to finally put him under, but it would be worth it in the end. Everything would be worth it in the end.

Pitch did not spare the gathering of weaklings below any thought as he finally gave in to the temptation, leaning down the bare minimum needed to press the thin line of his mouth to the apple of a dark sanded cheek, breathing in the fresh scent of Nightmare and fallen snow. Jack did not stir and would not for some time.

“Antarctica.” He decided quietly to himself as he finally allowed himself to look at the last line of defence. North was on his knees, a fetching look for the Guardian of Wonder, the Tooth Fairy a devastated glimmer of emerald feathers under his arm, face streaked with tears as she cradled the children in her arms, all of them curled up to her in fear. This was all he had left to ruin, all he had to dispose of and then nothing would stand in his path. They would believe. Finally.

“Yes,” The Nightmare King tightened his grasp, “Antarctica.”

It was a place for them. Their pinnacle of understanding. A frozen wasteland where all was black and white, stark and blunt as the taste of fear and the bite of winter. The place they understood each other most, and the place that Jack had flatly refused to join him. A place for the Frost Sprite to right his wrong. Antarctica would sustain the boy until he was finally ready to take his deserved place under the shadows wing. Until he came to his senses.

“You’ll see Jack.” Eclipsed eyes were victorious beacons in the darkness, “There is no match greater for the cold, than the dark.”


	2. All I Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere someone has turned my thoughts into Nightmares.  
> Somehow their words are now my own, and I’m sure...  
> They can take all I know and break it to pieces.  
> They can take all I know.
> 
> Stream of Passion - 'All I Know'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna: First off, thank you to those who reviewed. Comments put steel in my spine and help me to continue with my writing. I was very conscious of the fact that this is my first time writing for this fandom, always a nerve-wrecker for me, but every review makes me feel more confident about it, so thank you!
> 
> I will be having lyrics per chapter, a song that inspires or links to that specific chapter in some way.
> 
> This chapter is inspired by ‘All I know’ by Stream of Passion.

It was always the same. The same shapes, the same places, the same words. All in that voice that took the burning away and set his conflicted heart at ease.

“We don’t have to be alone, Jack.”

“You’re not one of them.”

“We can make them believe!”

The face was always a blur, something always just out of focus and no matter how hard he stared, or which way he turned, that smear of deep nothing against the white of everything else would not become the crisp clean lines he could imagine as clearly as if he was eye to eye with that face. He could draw out deep-set eyes with a trace of his fingertips, the smooth line of thin lips, the sharp curve of a masculine jaw and the lethal blade of sculpted cheekbones but his eyes saw nothing but a smeared canvas, incomplete perfection despite his efforts. The figure was tall, lithe, and he moved as if the ground beneath his step was the smoothest glass. He made no sound, black pooling around his feet in wisps of smoke that curled like beckoning fingers, an effortless glide that made his own movements feel clumsy and uncoordinated by comparison, a stumbling child next to the sheer elegance of his mysterious companion.

How did he know it was a ‘he’?

In as simple terms as can be used, the voice that enticed him was entirely masculine, a coaxing purr that pressed against him like velvet, urging him closer. It beguiled him with charming words in tones of caramel and dark chocolate, meltingly sweet to his senses and the taste was all temptation as it so effortlessly pulled him in, plays of gold and grey and black so deep that something hidden stirred inside, easing the fire that scorched his soul when he was without that shadow in the bleak white.

It was always there, he was always there. At the very least, he lingered in his periphery, a too-quick movement that evaded his gaze but still a brilliant splash of obsidian remained like a small comfort in the lonely hours. At most, he was close enough to touch, the proof of his presence in the jump of the pulse at his own neck, the twist in his stomach and the spike of something sharp through his veins. Those were the moments he anticipated most.

Sometimes, he could reach out to that Stygian figure and have his touch returned, the others hands warm and somewhat grainy as they stroked over the waxen skin of his face. His dark companion liked to touch him there, cup his cheeks, smooth roughened thumbs over the bow of his lips, and rub the flat of his palm over the point of his chin before he grasped it, ever so gently. He revealed his utmost appreciation of these little touches without coercion, leaning into those sweet caresses with plaintive noises and fluttering lashes, revelling in the strange heat and the shadow never seemed to mind, a quick flash of bright, pointed teeth for every tiny surrender a little revelation of its own. He would almost be ashamed of his own actions were it not for the indulgence of those hands with every reaction he gave to their touch, becoming even more daring, lingering longer, and pressing harder every time he pleaded for it with wide eyes.

It only made the times when he stood alone all the more harrowing. The landscape didn’t change much if at all, and while the constant stream of dancing snowdrifts were a familiar comfort, that’s all they were. Nothing felt of anything but for the touch of warm hands. The cut of ice, the sting of snow in his eyes, the elation as he rolled in the unmarred carpet of perfect white were all memories of feelings. He could feel the pressures of the actions, he could recite everything that happened as it happened with crystal clarity, but no swell of emotion, no sensation accompanied the words.

The only thing aside from those heavenly though infrequent visits and their solicitous moments of interaction that brought him any sort of joy at all was the crooked sculpture of sheer beauty that rose from the bed of endless snow, the wicked scythe of glistening ice built in tall juts of jagged glass, radiant against a colourless skyline. Sometimes, when the clouds parted just so, light would filter down through the serrated crystals and set a sparkle in it that would fragment over everything in multi-tonal prisms, the nebulous glitter inside frozen into a wave like dust in the breeze.

“What goes together better than cold and dark?”

That voice. The name always escaped him, slipping like melted butter through his fingers every time he reached for it. It was a whisper across the part of his mind that did not listen and no matter how badly he strained to catch it, the words slipped away every time he dared to think about it. Every time he made to open his mouth as warm hands worshipped his face, no sound came forth, no name and though he ached to say it, he could not.

“I believe in you.”

III

There was no pain as long-closed eyes finally opened. The flurries of brilliant white that waltzed in the open air were the first things to come into focus, a wondrous choreography of spontaneous movement, the finest freestyle in the sky. They were a startling reminder of days spent riding the Wind, her grasp as sure and strong on him as if she had breathed life into him herself, and the taste of winter at the back of his parched throat was a balm he had not anticipated.

The first twitch of fingers was akin to a full-bodied stretch after an exultant dream, the ripple of movement that followed as rejuvenating and fresh as a deep bite of ripe strawberry in the first swells of spring. His eyes were heavy, lids yearning to close again but he resisted, spine cracking loudly in the silence as he pulled his weighted body into a seated sprawl, disrupting the flawless settle of snow over his limbs. He felt all the better for it, nerve-endings snapping awake without so much as a ‘Good Morning’ and he lifted his hands to rub the dust of sleep from his lashes.

Blue. After so long dreaming of nothing but black and grey and white, and all betwixt and between shades of the same, the abrupt presence of solid colour startled him backwards suddenly enough to feel the sting against his scalp as he hit the wall behind him at too great a speed, even the sensation of pain foreign to him after... how long had it been?

“Ouch!” The sound of his own voice was a wonder, a surreal echo that bounced back from many directions at once and he marvelled at it as a pale hand rose to rub over the sore spot, the simple movement putting that mesmerising shade of blue back into his vision and he couldn’t help but take a moment to stare . It was refreshing. Plain, a single hue, rough-worn and a little faded but still gorgeous to his colour-starved eyes. Everything looked and felt more flamboyant and the assault on his mind in colours and sounds and scents was almost enough to render him insensate. A burst of laughter escaped his lips if only to prove he could break the silence if he so chose and it chimed off of the surrounding walls like the tinkling of a bell, melodic in the silence and so unlike what he remembered that it jarred him a little. How long had it been since he had heard his own voice?

His arms felt heavy as he lifted them, sluggish as though weighted to the ground, and a lurid tingle raced just beneath his skin as he paused a moment to contemplate the feeling. It was like an undercurrent of fine electricity, an energy that surged just outside of his understanding. Crystalline eyes fluttered shut just to revel in the strange flow of latent power he didn’t seem to recognise, unable to tap it no matter how he approached it and with a sigh that escaped as a curl of mist in the air he tried once more to move, deciding that it was an anomaly that could be analysed in closer detail at another point in time. Hands extended, fingers hooking with pleasant ease to the wall of ice at his back, pulling himself up onto unsteady feet, wobbling like a colt first learning to walk and feeling a little sheepish at his own weakness especially when there was no one there to witness or ridicule. Nothing was immediately familiar as he looked around.

“Where-?” The chasm around him was narrow, opening wide to the current of open air above and aside from the fact that winter had been his expertise for over 300 years there was no discernible way of knowing where he was until he pulled himself out of the pit he was sat in. His legs shook beneath him as he released his grip on the ice and he braced himself for an immediate collapse that never came, toes curling in the fluff of fresh snow first out of anxiety and then relishing the chill on his skin with a soft groan of enjoyment. How long had it been since he could feel this? How long had he suffered without it? The length of his back met the ice with a solid thump and he slouched lazily in contentment, the cold seeping through the fabric of the sweatshirt he wore and it was as beautiful as he remembered, eyes nearly rolling up into the back of his head in pleasure. This was his. This was what he was made for.

It was a simple wish. To stay here. To relish this feeling.

A pity it couldn’t be done.

Blue eyes fixed on the cutting edge at the top of the chasm. There was only one way out, the slice in the icy earth closing to a narrow point ahead of him, and nothing but a solid vertical climb behind. The prospect of scaling the wall sent a soft shiver of adrenaline through sleep-quiet veins, another long-missed rush of excitement that he took a minute to admire, but the fear was new.

Fear.

What was there to be afraid of?

Tired eyes slipped shut, nerve-endings hushed in their enjoyment of this more compelling environment. Everything. There was much to fear.

How long had he been asleep? What had happened when he drifted into the heat of the Void? If he concentrated, he could still feel the tight choking clasp of something wrapped stiflingly tight around every inch of him, binding him so thoroughly he might- but it hurt to think about. It was nothing like the vivid memories of the day he slid into the waters of the lake, the numbing cold that stole his breath and pulled him under. He could accept the loss of his own life to save the fragile light that was the smaller brunette girl, eyes wide like a doe before a hunter’s arrow over the damning crack of the ice. His own sister had walked away that day with no physical wounds and for that he was thankful, but the pull of scalding fire on his flesh as he was dragged into the dark was something he had fought against and lost. It had torn apart his defences and left him helpless as a child in its wake. The thought alone swept a terror through him that bit and scratched, an unending itch beneath his skin he couldn’t rid himself of, even now. What if it happened again?

And the others? 

How could he forget about them? The last he had seen of Tooth and North, they were barely upright under the onslaught of Nightmares, their last strength focussed on the protection of the small huddle of children in their care. Sandy had been taken long before, and Bunnymund had been stolen away in the arms of the Last Light. That small boy, short and barefoot, chocolate hair, bright eyes and brimming with hope. Even after sleeping so long, however long he had slept, he could hear the breath-soft whisper of his own name in a snow-sprinkled bedroom. Whispered so carefully, as if sacred.

“Jamie.”

The word came so easily to his lips, the vibration of the chords in his throat bizarre after so much disuse, but the image of his first believer was shady at best, all the little details he could have sworn he knew before now hard to summon. He had let Jamie down, let all of them down. The loss of Easter had been the crux of it, the turning point. He’d had a chance to prove himself and he had failed miserably, allowing himself to be so foolishly led for a few brief images of a past he would trade back just to be able to do things differently. It was too late now. He could not change what had been done, undo all that had happened.

The chance to fix everything had been lost when he had succumbed to firm arms and blazing eyes and the scorch of too-close shadows that pulled him down to sleep. Where were the others? How long had it been? Were they alright?

So many questions, so many answers, and so many possibilities to fear.

Were they disappointed in him? Ashamed of him? Angry at him?

So many questions...

Either way, disgraced or not, he could not stay, but how to get out? The Wind could not reach him here, closed in as he was and options were few. Stay or go? Forget or remember? Cower or fight? When put like that, it was easy enough to choose.

“Cowering has never been my style.” 

He studied the length of the climb, grabbing hold of the mounting well of determination inside of himself and shaping it into a firm resolve. It looked easy enough, but what was he climbing to? What would the World be like now? Would it be the same as it was before? What if the Guardians had failed? 

How long? He couldn’t help but stumble back to that question. It was the question that would put him on the trail to finding answers, the question he needed the answer to first and foremost, and then everything else would fall into place. The doubt that niggled at his sense of purpose was roughly shoved aside, a cool wave of calm soothing his spirit, numbing the whispers in the back of his head that told him here was safe, here was known, and it was only as he moved to the broadest wall, ready to take the defining step, that the defining step sent him sprawling onto his backside with a surprised yelp.

It didn’t hurt per se, but the dent in his confidence was not what he needed at that exact moment in time. Way to kick a man when he’s down, he thought wryly, searching the ground with his foot to locate the reason for his lack of grace.

When he found the culprit for his unscheduled collision with the floor, his frustration was easily assuaged at the sight of his 300-year companion, the crooked form of his staff an unexpected comfort despite the fact that it had sent him tumbling like a like a trainee skater new to the ice. He reached for the twisted length of wood, lifting it reverently, and the dull wet sheen that coated it when it lay discarded on the ground hummed to life under his fingers, frost dancing like a flourish of ivy over the worn surface until it glittered like it had been dipped in diamond dust. This was what he needed, something grounding and familiar. Something that told him nothing had changed and anything that had could be fixed without issue. Just a little bit of hope to light the way.

His old friend was dazzling in its full glory and Jack Frost felt the tugging of a smile at the corners of his lips as he clenched his hands around his reclaimed weapon, levelling his gaze at the wall in challenge.

“Naptime’s over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading and reviewing. I'm sure you have guessed by now that I don't like to make things easy for my ships so no immediate ravishment. Sorry to tease, darlings, but if you want it, you have to ask nicely! n.~


	3. Take it All Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Circling the pain inside my soul,  
> I reached inside your silence  
> to steal what you won't show.  
> I tried to find the answers in my fears,  
> but what was found is lost again as soon as it appears...
> 
> Red - "Take it all Away"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack takes a stroll through the Arctic Circle. Shit goes down.
> 
> I'd love to hear your theories on how you think this is going to pan out.  
> I hope you like this chapter!

The ice had been child’s play to scale. Barely any effort was required, scant minutes between the bottom of the chasm and the top of it but with weapon in hand and the blade edge of the cliff top in sight Jack could safely say despite all of the nagging questions, he was feeling much more like his old self again. 

Swinging his staff high, he managed to hook it to the ledge at the top of his climb, pulling himself up with ease, into the invigorating embrace of the Wind and an ever-changing blanket of newly shifted snow. The feeling was just as he remembered, unrestrained and vibrant and wholly his element of fun turned chaos that it momentarily evaporated all of the fears he could feel lurking somewhere under the layers of his own skin. The Wind buffeted around him with all the bluster of an excited schoolgirl, nearly sweeping him from the ground in her welcome and he was touched by the recognition, twirling in her open arms, staff held wide as he reciprocated her greeting with a poor imitation of his old untroubled grin. He knew she had been worried, remembered her slippery attempts to grasp him as he fell before he was cast into darkness but she would not be able to communicate how long it had been since he had last been held by her breeze. Jack pushed that expectation away without a second thought, content to bask in her relief, the fact that she had come to find him enough of a solace that he felt no urge to try and question her, to ruin this beautiful reunion.

The snow was pliant beneath his palms as he sank to his knees, soaking up the chill with a tender smile, carving a straight line through the undisturbed powder with his staff and watching it seal itself up with artful patterns of frost until it was as perfect as it had been before he touched it. Such simple things were bliss. The sweep of cold through his system was a wave of rejuvenation and Jack could feel the core of his soul sing with joy as he threw his head back to relish the swell of his own power, awoken as he was from a deep sleep and gleaning relief from the coil of hope that unravelled within him.

Unfortunately, reality was quick to temper the feeling.

Blue eyes turned almost lazily to the smudge of black upon an entirely white landscape, a blot of ink on a pristine map of newly cut paper, and those eyes widened, a slice of fear ripping sharp through the optimism that had flooded his senses. For a split second, he wished he had steeled himself against the need to look, to know, that sparkling hint of darkness just a blur in his periphery but he had given in to the temptation and the dread that rose in him abated only slightly as he realised he was no longer dreaming.

Posed a heartbreaking embodiment of beauty against the same colourless skyline he had watched for so long, was a curve of razor-sharp black ice, claws stretched high to rip at the clear canvas above with talons of frozen sand. It was flawless, exactly as he remembered. Every point and twist was engraved into his mind from endless hours of simply admiring it in the realms of sleep and nothing about it was different to that full-scale, every-angle scan he had subjected it to. Despite the storms that ran rampant through the South Pole, despite the many forces of nature capable of structural damage, the sculpture stood unchanged, indomitable against the wicked bite of the harsh climate and even the presence of the Wind, her fury punishing when her temper was high, had no adverse effect on its form.

It was almost as if, Jack realised as he stood in the wake of its glittering shadow, that marvellous chance creation fed from its environment, empowered by the cold, and why should it not with half of its conception founded from hands that governed the ice itself?

Jack drew closer, wanting to pull away, but something urged him onward and only as his hand paused mere inches from touching the spiral of a jagged icicle, did he stop. At least one thing was clear. He now had all the proof he needed to set a mental map. There was only one construction such as this in the world, and he had been one of two people to create it. He remembered when and he knew exactly where.

Someone knew what they were doing. It was an act of mercy that he be placed in the arms of his element than left to perish in the molten wastelands of the Equatorial continents. The one who had captured him would never have done such a thing without purpose, so what did that mean? Did North and the others escape? How did they overpower the shadows to rescue him and why did they leave him here? Or was it them at all? Jack clenched his fingers tightly around the length of wood he had been reunited with. Most of this made no sense, but one thing was certain, he had to find the others. He had to make sure they were alright.

Despite his heavy heart warning him he might not like whatever he may find, the Wind lifted him easily with nary a word from his lips. It is most pleasant to feel so lightweight again, to be carried as if he were an infant child in a mothers loving arms and it occurs to him that it’s almost selfish to wish he could feel that carefree again, cast away the dark doubts clinging like hooked ropes to his shoulders but until the questions are answered there is no chance of that. Jack surrendered himself to the current that held him, allowing the Wind to lift him higher, as though fear itself was not trying to drag him back to the ground.

III

The North Pole was an impenetrable fortress nestled deep into the mountainside, as perfectly covert as a high-spiralling palace could possibly hope to be in the middle of nowhere, and then some. The rounded domes of the roof were piled high with snowy blankets of camouflage to conceal it from prying eyes, and even the slide of frosted rock that it rose from was fantastic in the way that beautiful landscapes could only be when depicted in fanciful stories.

The first time Jack had ever laid eyes on it, enthralled as he had been by the stories of Santa Claus spun by adults to their mesmerised children, he had taken a few moments to himself to watch it from afar before he made his approach, admiring the craftsmanship, the sheer _wonder_ of the place. Then, as any mischievous boy would, he had set about discovering ways to infiltrate and cause havoc, thwarted every single time by a furred monstrosity by the name of Phil. He had always been thrown out without consideration, always caught by lackeys as opposed to facing the sabres of the Man of the House, and that had been disappointing up until he had been thrown, sack-full of limbs at North's feet courtesy of the grumpy Kangaroo. 

The brief tour had been bright and glorious, filled with prototypes of colourful creations yet to be multiplied, plastic beauty whizzing by his face close enough for him to feel the still air stir and the bustle of activity as elves tripped over themselves, the Abominables doing their best to avoid the tiny hazards as they applied their skills to whichever marvellous design had been placed before them. The Workshop had by far been his most favourite place, too awed by the foundations of ideas scattered in an array of ice sculptures to accept the offer of fruitcake by the towering square-cut figure of Father Christmas. The things that man could do with an element not his to control...

Jack's memories were bittersweet. Though that was how he recalled the North Pole, it was not the majestic stronghold he could picture so clearly in his mind when he finally managed to return to it. The warm and welcoming glow of a thousand candle-lit windows were dark and empty eyes looking out from the shadow of the structure, shattered and sorrowful, far from the glory befitting such a Palace. No light shone from what was once a beacon of Wonder, and no defence leapt to stop him as he neared it, heart rent in his chest at the sight of the barren construction.

The Wind carried him to the skylight where once the Moon had glittered down upon the first meeting between himself and the Guardians despite the time of day, and he remembered how bitter he had been, how resentful of his supposed destiny. Ridiculous word, destiny. How fair was it, to allow such a tiny word dictate one's life? Fate, chosen, duty. Save the children, they said. Defeat the Boogeyman, they said. Yet all the while, when the world spun safe and fear was under control, who had time for a poor little Frost Sprite screaming wildly for someone to see? To believe? Jack nearly fell clear from the ledge he had landed upon at the dark turn of his own thoughts, blinking away the ache between his brows from the severe frown that had creased there. Where did that come from? The Guardians had been kind, had opened themselves to him, hadn't they? Had wanted him for more than just duty?

Tooth had been so excited to meet him, so flamboyant with her bright feathers plumed as she darted about, voice an exuberant chirp, so easily extending fragile fingers to touch that he had been unused to the contact and stumbled awkwardly away from her, unsure of how to react. Sandy had been so impossibly accepting, Zen, as if channelling serenity rested at the core of his being with his quirky explanations and easy smiles. Then again, Jack had always liked the Sandman, the streaming rivers of golden dream-dust weaving around him at night enough to distract from the loneliness that tore at him when every child was tucked up in bed. Jack liked to think it was purposeful.

North had cut an intimidating figure, broad shoulders towering high over the dishevelled tips of the Winter Spirits hair but the blushed and dimpled cheeks, the booming laugh and that rather distracting accent turned him from Judge, Jury and Executioner into the equivalent of that one school counsellor who pressed a lollipop into your hand and told you to stop being naughty.

Bunny? Jack sighed, pale fingers ruffling back strands of moonstone hair from his forehead. Bunny had been opposed from the start. There was no getting around that. There had been a brief moment when Jack had thought everything would be fine and then that hope slipped through his fingers and collided with a particularly unforgiving floor. It hurt to even think about, to not be given a chance and to be distrusted so easily after the hand, or paw as it were, of friendship had been extended. That uneasy truce had lasted minutes.

A soft push at his back nearly sent him through the skylight and Jack waved off the Wind with a distracted hand as he dared look down into the Globe-room of the Pole. It was bleak, miserable, everything it should not be. Jack took the Wind's careful urging and descended through the open roof with nothing to drive him back. No large furred paws reached out to snatch him from the air. The ground did not vibrate with the weight of gruff and shuffling creatures, come to kick him out of this sanctum. No bells jingled from small red-clad elves scurrying around on the floors causing mischief. Jack felt his throat close up and he struggled to swallow back the lump lodged there. Nothing stirred, the silence turning the North Pole from a hive of commotion and activity to the deathly still and sombre quiet of a tomb.

"What happened?" Bare feet touched down on a toy-strew floor, bits of broken plastic and glass catching the scant light and sparkling like fallen stars. Snow lined the wooden railings of the balconies and carpeted the stone and slat floors, sweeping in through the damaged glass of the windows and accenting the despair of the desolate picture. No footprints marred the perfect spread of it, and Jack felt forced to acknowledge that this place had been abandoned for quite some time, a clench in his gut disgusted at how his own element could add so much ruination to such a miraculous sanctuary. 

The hearth of the great fireplace, usually so vibrant in its warmth that Jack had to keep distance, was blackened and dark as though a great shadow had crawled down the chimney to paint itself across the floor. No fire roared in the grate, no cookies and egg-nog waited on silver plates for eager hands and at the centre of this unlikely scene, North's pride and joy, the Great Globe spun ever slowly on its axis, devoid of its brightness.

Jack gazed up at it, eyes mournful and the knot tied in his throat only swelled as he searched for a glimmer of light that was not there. The once beautiful creation lit with the belief of millions of children dragged on, almost weary in its rotation, nothing more than a dark monument loudly proclaiming the victory of Fear. Not a single light shimmered on its surface.

"This can't..." Jack leapt up, stumbling to the once lush green continent of America, collapsing to his knees as he stared down at the little block on the Globe that was Burgess. No light.

"No!" Jack's fingers felt numb as his clenched fist came down on the small section of the raised map. Jamie's light was the last line of defence for the Guardians, and it was gone. Cobalt eyes squeezed shut, the imprint behind them of a small, pale frightened face as The Last Light had been hauled into the shadows. What had happened to Jamie? Surely, he couldn't be... Jack dug his fingers into the surface of the Globe until they hurt, until his bones creaked from the force of it. No, he couldn't be...

"There's more than one way to snuff out the light."

A startled cry broke free of his lips and Jack was on his feet, faltering unsteadily over the uneven surface of the Globe as he whipped his staff into an offensive position. He turned his head, this way and that, snowy hair dancing violently over his eyes from the speed of it, trying to locate the source of the voice that had seen fit to come here, to tarnish the Pole with his presence.

It was not who he suspected.

Three Nightmares lined the control panel at the base of the Globe, each with its haunting eyes fixed on the Winter Sprite as he sank into a battle-ready crouch, prepared to defend himself.

The assault was organised, as though in the time that had passed, the Nightmares had evolved from the wild savage animals that attacked without restraint, into sentient creatures that communicated and employed forethought. One of the monstrous apparitions remained where it was stood, drawing focus to the control panel as the other two circled around, stepping the air like they were climbing invisible stairwells. Their tails lashed like sanded ribbons in the gloom and Jack could swear that if they could smile, they'd be grinning like mad demons at their potential catch, the flicker of brimstone eyes lit with a flavour of fun that he could recognise. They had obviously not had a challenge for quite some time.

Jack braced himself, scouting out the many exits he had to choose from. Surely if he were to make it outside, being in his element would give him the upper hand? A short moment of distraction as he coiled ready to spring for the skylight was taken as an advantage and the Nightmare on his left reared forward, swirling around the Frost Sprite in a cloud of dark glitter as Jack swiped out with his staff. The sharp sprays of ice he sent at the beast didn't cause as much damage as he hoped and the black cyclone that surrounded him caught him easily, swallowing him up. He tried to bat the sand away, well aware of what happened the last time it had gotten a good grip on him but it seemed that in his absence, the Nightmares had grown in strength. This was not a fight he could win. He would lose. There was no-one left to help him now. Soft whispers trickled like melted frost into his ears, sneaking tendrils of doubt and hopelessness that tried to bind themselves to his psyche.

"No, no, stop!" A soft hushing was at his ear, the sound a deeper note than the crawl of the nightmare sand but it did no good in calming him as tremors rode his bloodstream in waves, his limbs seizing up against his will, lips parting to speak but no sound escaped. Brief sparks of warmth lit his skin as smooth fingers he could not quite see through the swarm caressed the length of his neck, petting at the vulnerable membrane that did nothing to protect his racing pulse. Jack was afraid to open his eyes, afraid of what he'd see even as he felt himself sink into the grip of those familiar hands, his every thought reeling back from the contact in terror.

"Awake at last."

The voice shocked him clear from the blinded stupor he had sunk into and he jerked back from the touch with a measure of control he was sure he had long since lost, near falling from the orb of dark sand within which he had been suspended. Letting out an enraged cry, Jack launched himself skyward as the second Nightmare gave chase, managing a solid swing to the creatures long nose as it snapped after his leg and knocking it back just long enough to leap clear through the closest window. Shards of glass snagged at his hoodie like the pull of frantic fingers clinging to hold him in place but he did not stop, the soft shredding of fabric only a small sound in his ears before the Wind swept him up with an irate howl.

The Nightmares did not dare follow him into the path of her fury, and the fierce blizzard he kicked up in his wake may have been yet another deterrent, but nothing calmed the storm of his heartbeat, not even the thought of safety. The Wind clustered around him, brief gusts brushing his chilled skin as if to check his state of health and Jack was too distressed to calm her, the already frigid temperatures of the Arctic Circle made lethal by the wave of snow that leapt high to rage in his disquiet.

Jack felt his heart shrink in his chest as he settled to the ground, the Wind reluctant to release him and settling low to keep him in her grasp. The world was an abstract smear of white around him, North's fortress long hidden in the furious rush of icy cold.

The Guardian of Wonder was gone.

Nightmares roaming free in the Pole would never be allowed otherwise. The Yeti's had deserted the Workshop. The elves had vanished. The complete disarray of what had once been revered was unfixable without the man who founded it all. Jack slipped numb fingers over the tear in the sleeve of his hoodie, the glass not near enough to scratch his skin and he dug his own nails into the unmarked white of his own flesh, "Wind!"

His dear friend swirled a frantic spiral of snow to show her attentiveness and he leapt to her open embrace as she curled up from the ground, "Take me to the Tooth Palace!" 

The Wind acquiesced, drawing him up almost as if eager to remove him from potential harm, and it seemed no time at all before dunes of snow, glaciers and berg-riddled waters were replaced by a long stretch of ocean, spread like a plush and shifting mantle over the Earth's surface in shades of brightest sapphire.

He tried to clear his head, to stay focussed, the frozen bite of the high atmosphere a balm against his fear as he rode the current of icy air, but leaving the North Pole behind in such circumstances sat heavy on his conscience, another heavy burden to bear among the many others he had yet to right. It was not simply that, but also the fleeting glimpse of mercurial eyes lashed bright with golden fire that bore into him for the briefest second as he fought back from the Nightmare's snare.

Those eyes had captured him before, and had lost none of their potency, their influence hypnotic and the suggestion in them more than capable of presenting orders in the form of his own thoughts. It terrified him that he seemed to want to comply, that the need to do so stemmed from his own mind telling him it was okay, when it clearly was not. The voice that had spoken to him lilted in dark notes like bitter chocolate that both soothed and clawed at his senses and the thrill that sang like latent power beneath his skin yearned to move closer, to allow this twisted perversion of need to rule his logic.

Awake at last, the voice had said.

Those eyes had seen him, and it hurt to acknowledge the fact that when he had been seen, for that briefest second as he fought back from the Nightmare's snare, he hadn't wanted to fight at all.

III

The underground Labyrinth of slanted stone was easily navigated by the herd of stamping hooves and whipping tails of dark sand. The sounds they made upon their entrance to their Master's cavernous lair called forth a bevy of greeting from those that had not yet left the dwelling to haunt the continents but the three that had returned did not stop, one of the sanded Mares rearing high with a demanding whinny that echoed throughout the passages.

A dark shadow stepped forth from the black, smooth gait unhurried, a long drape of silken fabric that blended back into the darkness from which he had emerged creeping steadily across the stone floors as he approached the subject that brayed for his attentions.

An ashen hand rose to stroke long fingers over the obsidian nose of the Nightmare, drawing its gaze to his own, sharpened teeth exposed as a sinister smile carved its way over his angular face, "Tell me everything."


	4. One-track Minded Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People were people,  
> so their nightmares came through.  
> Now our world is full of nightmares left from you.
> 
> Your screams were loud,  
> but now you're sound  
> asleep, for I helped guide you down.
> 
> Down from the throne that you're all on.  
> Welcome to the one track minded age.
> 
> Broken Iris - 'One-track minded age'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little disheartened by the lack of feedback. Am I doing this wrong?  
> If I am, how can I fix it?
> 
> Chapter inspired by the above song.  
> In this chapter we have a little visit to the Tooth Palace and Jack returns to Burgess...

The North Pole had been a shock to the senses, Jack thought. The slow creep of dread in the approach, hoping for the best but knowing that time had long since passed and hope was futile. The realisation that the world as it had been before was not the world as it was now and the wound that remained from the stab of stark reality left you wilting in the corner as your worst fears came to life. Without the rose-tint of glass to comfort as he gazed into the austere face of such a reality, the Cryomancer found it much harder to cling to any happy thought he had left. It was akin to the feeling of being walked through. A glimpse of a child's dreams and happiness for a split second before they walked away, face bright as it had been before they scooped out all of the hope you had in your heart and cast it to the ground beneath trampling feet, all unknowing, uncaring.

The Tooth Palace was something else entirely.

The once grand and gilded aviary was half eroded and barren, no fluttering wings and soft chirping to break the unholy silence. The swarms of little fairies that once chattered until the pillars rang with their symphony were nowhere in sight and the Golden Sanctum of the Tooth Fairy lay dormant. Random cases of little lost teeth were cast over every surface in sight, abandoned and cracked, little white pieces of enamel strewn across the many nests that curved around the spiral towers, dotting the scaled floors like a sprinkling of snow. Smaller columns had given way to gravity, only shards of what once held them hanging from the high ceiling, the rest scattered in shattered pieces far below. Everything was less than before, tarnished and dull, even the mosaics that swirled across the walls like byzantine tapestry clung faded and dreary in the sunset colours that lit the palace, the cacophony of pink and sunshine doing nothing to brighten the once beautiful landscape.

The Wind set him down on a wide nest at the edge of the palace, unable to hold him for too long due to the high temperature climate that warmed her as she carried her charge, but Jack did not even notice the humidity of the continent. All he saw was corroded beauty, long since left to ruin. The urge to cry, to scream and rage was overwhelming but Jack swallowed it down, felt it settle, leaden and heavy inside of him. Punjam Hy Loo was destroyed.

"This is my fault." His own voice was unnervingly loud in the stillness, echoing back in accusation from the high turrets, "This is all my fault." 

He hated that he wanted to curl up and cry, hated that he felt so alone, so utterly helpless and clueless, no idea what had happened after he had fallen to shadow. He hated himself for feeling all of these things when he couldn't even be sure of what had become of Toothiana and North, of Bunny. What fresh hell they must have suffered at the hands of Pitch Black in his absence and he was feeling SORRY for himself? What right did he have to feel so? The guilt was as poisonous as the fear and Jack wasn't sure whether he was going to scream or not, so trapped in the cycle of questions and frustrations.

And that's when he heard it.

A tiny cry, like a mouse-squeak in the silence, and had any other sound rivalled it for his attention, Jack knew he would not have heard it at all. It was brief and familiar, achingly so and dancing up onto a higher platform, disturbing the dust that settled on each nest, Jack ran his eyes over everything in sight, searching for anything amiss, "Where are you?"

Another chirp echoed in the open, sounding so desperately forlorn it was almost criminal to behold. Jack followed the dwindling note of it towards the larger spirals at the centre of the palace, the archive of teeth that lay empty after the siege of Nightmares had raided the Sanctuary of Memory, carrying away the treasure that was every child's dearest recollection. Little open gaps in the towers provided footholds for him to climb, staff hooked over the upper of his arm as he scaled the first column he reached, nimble and quick as he remembered he would be, movement easing back to him after time spent immobile in the cold storms of Antarctica.

The soft squeak came again a little higher up and as Jack paused to search the cavities in the towers for any sign of life, he was suddenly struck by his own name. There, inscribed meticulously in looping script onto a little gold hinged door, much like the others that covered the archive, the name 'Jackson Overland Frost' shone bright at him from the damaged metal of the compartment that once held his teeth. A soft exhale was cool on his lips as he pried the beaten door open with careful fingers, surprised at what lay inside.

"Baby Tooth," His awe was apparent as the little feathered creature huddled into a ball at the back of the case enclosure, only daring to peek over her shoulder at him with one bright eye. Another short chirp as she realised who was before her, the unsettling pallor of her face warming ever so slightly as she rolled, crawling forwards from the tiny space to tumble gratefully into his open palm. Jack felt something blossom inside him, a tender warmth as he recalled how much this little hummingbird had suffered through with him and he looked back at the tooth column. The spaces were tiny, just big enough for her to hide inside. How long had she been here?

Baby Tooth looked dreadful, her exhausted mismatched eyes wide as she stared up at him as if she daren't believe what she saw. The beautiful golden feather of her crest was distressed, small face pale with fatigue and her wings were bent to her body at awkward angles, too damaged to fly and too tired to support her own weight. Jack cradled her gently as she cooed up at him, pools of magenta and cyan glassy as she hugged her tiny body to the thumb of the hand that held her.

"Are you alone?" Jack jumped down from the archive, settling onto the nearest resting ledge and letting his legs dangle over the edge of the platform, staff a constant at his side as Baby Tooth nodded at him sullenly, her grip unrelenting around his thumb as if she were afraid he'd disappear at any second, "What happened?"

Emerald feathers ruffled as the little creature shuddered, small arms tightening as she curled up into herself, shaking her head furiously, clearly afraid.

"Was it Pit-" Jack let out an undignified shriek as Baby Tooth drove the length of her sharp beaked nose into the tender flesh of his palm and he only just managed to avoid dropping her in his recoil.

"Yeowch!" The hand she pat over the damage inflicted and the sorrowful face she cast up at him spoke volumes and the demand for explanation on the tip of his tongue was swallowed back down as he looked at her. Baby Tooth had only ever hurt someone once in the time he'd known her, and that was a retaliation in Antarctica against their mutual foe as he threatened them both, "Did I say something wrong?"

At her frantic nod, Jack bit at his lip. The name of the Shadowmancer?

"Can it not be said?" Another shake of the brightly feathered head.

"Is it dangerous to say?" A nod.

"Well okay then..." Jack huffed out a slow breath, "No summoning the Boogeyman."

For the first time since he'd taken her from the tooth case, soft titters of chirping laughter echoed in his palms and a shy smile was directed up at him. After so much bad luck, that small smile lit up the dark and Jack felt the heavy leaden feeling of despair unwind ever so slowly inside of him.

Casting a last glance around the desolate realm of the Tooth Palace, Jack rose to his feet, lifting the small weight of his new companion to his shoulder as he collected his staff from the ledge. Baby Tooth crawled her way into the soft pouch of his hood with enough effort to cause concern, gripping at the blue fabric tightly as the Frost Sprite leapt from the columns. Much as it hurt, Punjam Hy Loo was left behind as Jack took to the Wind once more. Nothing could be done for it now. 

The Guardian of Memory was gone.

III

Burgess was a shadow of its former self, as though all the colour had been leeched out of it. It looked the same of course, the shop fronts all lit and welcoming in that sterile retail manner and picket fences neatly lined and painted, the perfect picture of suburbia, but having wandered the never-changing streets and icing the waters of the lake for just over 300 years, Jack could see the differences as though they were lined up before his eyes and waiting to be assessed.

No one smiled. No one laughed. On any other day around noon, the walkways would be a continuous stream of people chatting, friendly neighbours discussing the latest gardening equipment, strolling parents stopping their pushchairs for the elderly to pause and fuss over their giggling children and school kids playing games down by the water's edge, their joyous shouting carrying over the sparse woodland.

This was nothing like home.

Dark-clad figures hurried down the streets as though chased by the hounds of hell, dragging their quiet children by the wrist with no word to spare for anyone. Everyone seemed to be in such a hurry, eyes cast down to the floor, almost afraid to look up, pulling dark hoods over their hidden faces to guard against the cold that descended upon the town with the winter spirits presence. Even the children seemed so unlike themselves, clinging to their parents legs and following without a word spoken, not rambunctious or playful or even smiling. Why was nobody smiling?

Baby Tooth chirped mournfully at his ear and Jack raised a distracted hand to stroke a cool finger over the ruined crest of her head, "We're okay..."

It hurt. To watch people afraid to acknowledge each other, scared to look at anyone, let alone speak. Passing like ghosts.

"Stop it, STOP, please!"

Jack turned, none of the humans rushing past pausing in their stride despite the wailing shriek of distress coming from a familiar body of water nearby. The voice was only vaguely familiar as he took to the sky in a solid leap, only a short distance travelled before he was landing with long practiced ease on the rockery by the lake, peering up over the smooth stone to watch what was happening, ready to help if he could. A slender child, a girl, burrowed into a duffle-buttoned coat with overlong choppy blond hair and a pale rounded face was pleading with an older boy, her hands screwed into fists in her grey knitted scarf as she watched, clearly terrified to approach the lakeside where the other child was standing. If he could be called a child. He looked to be a few years older than the girl, at least.

Jack looked back to the blonde child, brow furrowing in recognition. She looked so very familiar and yet Jack could swear he'd never met her before.

The boy was inches from the slope into the water, dressed warmly in thick muted colours, a woollen hat and no coat despite the chill, a dark grin splitting his face in a horrifying manner, dull eyes fixed on the shivering, crying girl as she stood where she was, as if frozen to the ground. In his clenched fist, a sackcloth bag dangled by a single string, knotting it closed and the anguished mewling from inside could mean nothing but trouble.

"Please!" The small girl begged, "I'll keep her out of your room, I promise! Just give her back, please!"

"She'll stay out of my room anyway when I'm done." The boys voice was cruel, eyes cold like chips of charcoal underneath the folded back brim of the hat, only a spiked slash of chocolate hair loose to cut across his brow. Jack leapt down from the rock-bed, the cool, crisp glass crunching underfoot as it frosted over, nearing the pair with eyes only for the upset animal in the knotted bag. Clearly they both couldn't see him or he'd have been spotted by now, if he could just reach the bag...

"Jamie, please!" The girl cried, voice scratchy from the cold and her own shrill supplications but it was not the plaintive tone of her cry that made the Frost Sprite stiffen.

"Jamie?" Jack looked at the boy. Really looked. It couldn't be...

The round of youthful cheeks had narrowed, the glimmer of wonder in joyful eyes nothing more than a bright streak of menace. He was taller, yes, older most definitely, but the sneer on that mocking mouth and the way he laughed? It was all wrong. It couldn't be him, couldn't be.

"Don't be such a wimp, Sophie."

The blonde raced forward as Jamie spun once, the bag flying free of his grip with the momentum as he sent it soaring out to land with a splash in the deeper waters, a smile of deep and chilling satisfaction on his face. Jack stood frozen in the wake of that smile, horror-struck by the possibility made real.

"No!" Sophie screamed, hands outstretched as if she could pluck the bag from the depths with just thought alone, forced back from the lake as Jamie grabbed a handful of the hood at the back of her jacket, dragging her back towards the pathway home. The bag sank like a stone with no sound, only a trace of bubbles frothing up for mere seconds to follow the ripples of the splash into non-existence. Jack couldn't help it now. 

An attempted rescue would only prolong the creatures suffering, freezing the water solid and causing more pain. He remembered that much at least.

Jack turned to watch the two children as they disappeared down the pathway, one laughing, the other sobbing uncontrollably as she was half-towed out of sight and that weighty feeling of helplessness swelled inside him again, sore and dark and terrifying.

What had happened to Jamie? How did Sophie get that big?

And the original question. Jack released his held breath in a shudder. 

How long have I been asleep?


	5. Further

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of days, at the end of time  
> When the Sun burns out, will any of this matter?  
> Who will be there to remember who we were?  
> Who will be there to know that any of this had meaning for us?
> 
> VNV Nation - 'Further'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I tried to post this yesterday but my dad turned the internet off while I was editing... *put-upon sigh* and I am very sorry for the extension to what was already a delay. As I write this, I am cuddling my 3play Blu-ray copy of Rise, as it was just released here in the UK today, (HOW COULD THEY DO THAT TO US!? MEAAAAANNNNNN! *shakes finger at Dreamworks* MEAN!) and I am trying so very hard to contain myself enough to finish this up. So here you go!

It felt like it had been a long time since Jack had seen the natural beauty of the Warren. Bunnymund had only ever let him down there once and it was a quick tumble down a burrow before the cranky Kangaroo could change his mind, in part due to their grief at the loss of Sandy but also desperation to keep the belief of the children aflame. The Underground left an impression that etched itself firmly into his memories in bright viridian and vivid flushed blossoms, colours he would never forget, they were so striking. 'I'll will never tell Bunny that.' he had promised himself at the time and now, he would never get the chance even if he changed his mind. 

There had only been one moment, Jack recalled, where he and the Easter Bunny had not been at each other's throats during their short, charismatic play at camaraderie. A clock-tick really where everything, the Blizzard of '68, the insults to the Guardians authority, the hurtful words of disbelief and the pranks pulled on the Tooth Hunt, did not matter, were not relevant. A whole minute passed as they watched the dazzling array of glittering eggs march forth into the tunnels and the words shared were kind, sincere, the only time he had ever managed civility towards the crazy Guardian of Hope without seriously straining something. It was a moment he could speculate as a tender-foot tread on the brittle pathway towards a heartfelt friendship.

Sadly, one step forward, two steps back.

It was a moment smashed to dust when Bunnymund turned on him at the egg hunt before he could explain anything. The image of the Pooka looming over him, venomous rage in his green eyes and paw raised to swing at him was still unsettling to a point where Jack could feel his breath catch when he thought about it. Easter had been ruined, the egg hunt abandoned and the grassy glade, still decorated with banners and fallen baskets, felt constricting under the disappointing gazes of the three remaining Guardians of The Great Four. He had left without a word to explain himself, head hung in shame, but somehow, despite the wild frolic of his thoughts as he had fled, he could still remember how to get back to that clearing with startling clarity.

That was, of course, how he found his way back in. The tunnel was still there, Bunny too thrown by the loss of Easter to remember to close it again and it took very little to reach it, the overgrowth of jade leaves and low-sprouting tree branches too young to withstand the force of the Sprite's staff as the crook swept them aside. Though it was unnerving, Jack held no second thoughts as he stepped down into the compact dirt and pressed-flat grass that burrowed deep into the earth.

It was incredibly dark in the underground, not enough to give him pause but enough to worry Baby Tooth as she shivered into the thick fabric of his hood, cheeping in fear. Jack nearly jumped at the sound, wound tight as a bowstring and he felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment, so used to being alone that he had completely forgotten she was there. He reached up a comforting hand to pet over her feathered head, carefully avoiding the awkward bend of her mangled wings and hummed a little in his throat to quiet her. It seemed to calm the delicate creature a little and she settled against his shoulder, padding small hands beneath her like cat paws, the light tapping pressure a sweet sort of comfort to him in turn. The ground was mossy beneath his bare feet, springy like sponge and the shattered eggshells that led him to the clearing the first time like some terrible trail of breadcrumbs were long gone as he wandered further into the wide stretch of the passageway, packed soil and stone lining the walls in a comforting manner. Bunny sure knew how to dig tunnels.

He knew what to expect as the channel opened up into Bunny's domain, knew what he should anticipate when he finally set eyes on Nature's garden again, but it still stole the air from his lungs and the thoughts from his mind. The beauty of the Warren was as rent apart as his heart at the sight of his First Believer after so long a sleep.

Carpets of peridot grass and hanging strings of brilliantly coloured buds in bloom were nothing more than cracked dry earth and barren stone walls, grey with age and dull with little, if anything, to flourish in the drought. Nothing was hopeful about this once beautiful haven. The streams of flowing effervescent colours used to paint the eggs had run dry, now spread like a trench of empty veins throughout the Warren, the flowers and vines that shifted in the presence of the Guardian of Hope and brought life to the underground long since withered and spent.

Stone giants were strewn in pieces like rubble across the floor, their oval shapes crumbled to pebbles and moss, the stretch of naked ground occasionally broken by dry tufts of straw-like weeds. Nothing grew here, nothing moved and not even the North Wind, with all her cunning and strength, managed to sail down the tunnels to stir dry grass into a frenzied dance. Everything was just so... dead. 

A soft pat to the side of his face drew Jack from the darkness of his own thoughts. Baby Tooth watched from her perch on his shoulder, small face set against the upset betrayed by her tiny clenched fists, exotic eyes and the shimmer of her dainty plumage an intense splash of colour in what was once a natural paradise.

"They're all gone."

He didn't even have to look to know. Bunny was not here, but then, with the luck he had scraped together so far, Jack couldn't even say with sincerity that he expected any different. He may not know what happened to Tooth and North, but Bunny had been taken with Jamie and from the brief moment spent in his First Believer's presence, Jamie was nothing like the jovial child that he remembered. What hope did Bunny have if that was what became of the Last Light?

That particular strain of concern threw up much more confusion.

Jamie had grown. Not by much, surely, but enough for the passage of time to raise alarm. He must have been just shy of ten years if not exactly that when the battle in Burgess streets had lain waste to the belief of the children. Jack puzzled it over in his mind. No, it couldn't have been that long since the Guardians had squared off against the shadows, but then Sophie? That little spritely child clad in garish pyjama's and over-sequined fairy wings that giggled and chased and demanded? She looked much older now. A mere tot with a couple of years under her little trouble-making feet had grown by too much to properly comprehend. How could that be? 

It felt like reality had been shattered into thousands of tiny puzzle pieces and far too many were missing. He was scrabbling at shards that didn't fit and coming up empty-handed every time with no clue on what to do next. The thought was disparaging, a rug-pull from under his own determined standpoint and it was far too easy to pluck at threads of doubt, twist them this way and that to analyse his own deficiencies. There was nothing to go on. There were no clues or hints or sudden unexpected luck, and there were definitely no second chances after wrong moves. The only thing he could rely on was that he had to make the decisions, and there was no telling if they were the right ones or not.

"They would know. They would have all the answers." A dismayed pip and Baby Tooth was kneading at the fabric of his hoodie again, trying vainly to pat his worries away but he did not look at her, "Tooth, and North. They would have a plan by now. What have we got? What can we do without them?"

Jack held his staff above the ground, a small sign of respect as he made his way across the barren flats of the once bounteous green-land, determined to keep his frost from tarnishing an already damaged haven. He would be the first to admit he had never catered to the whim of worrying about anybody else since he had been resurrected to the life of Jack Frost. He had never had anybody care enough about him to inspire such a returned sentiment and the feeling was alien to him. Then, the Guardians, in the short time he had known them personally, welcomed him with open arms and he could recall with lucid precision how much that had made him feel at home in a world where he could not remember having one. They held together like a close-knit family for one brief shining moment. If he hadn't been so blind, if they hadn't taken so long to approach him, if he'd have chosen them over his own memories... It hurt to think about, hurt to contemplate the what-if's and the if-only's.

If he closed his eyes, he could even see them, flamboyant as a life spent riding high currents in his mind's eye and it made the ache feel that much worse. It wouldn't have been a stable family unit by any stretch of the imagination, but it would have been the best and only one he would probably ever have again, the short memories almost as bittersweet as that last joyous smile he had witnessed on the pale, drawn face of a small girl picking herself up from the surface of an iced-over lake. 

The sniping with Bunny as they raced across rooftops in the quest of collecting teeth far outshone the threat of one large paw raised ready to strike as incensed eyes burned down on him with frustration and anger. The flutter of gauze-thin wings humming musically in his ears, a gentle weight from the warm hand at his shoulder and grateful cerise eyes, turned a stunning violet in the darkness of the room where a small boy slept, missing tooth liberated from beneath his pillow far outweighed the guilt that ate at his core when he saw the besieged look on Tooth's face as she stared at the gilded box in his hand. The expectant eyes of Wonder fixed on him as if he were some rare and undiscovered treasure as bit by bit, he peeled away the delicate wooden shells of the painted nesting-doll and the comforting words gifted to him after his inability to save Sandy were much more precious memories than the soul-destroying disappointment he was faced with in that grassy clearing on Easter Sunday.

Sandy, thankfully, had never looked at him in such a way, one disapproving stare from dream bright eyes enough to unravel the calmest of composure's, but the failure that plagued him, knowing he could have fought harder, been faster, given Sandy enough time to escape...

Jack sighed, his own expectation a crutch that could not support him. He was always too late. Too late or not enough.

Baby Tooth stretched up, perching precariously on his shoulder as she tugged at a low lock of moonbeam hair at the nape of his neck and he felt a sad smile tug over his lips as he tucked his head low in acknowledgement of her, jewelled feathers a blur in his periphery with how close she was, "What are we going to do?"

Leaping up onto the most stable outcrop in the rock, a short jut subtly curved on one side, no doubt a large chunk of the Sentinel eggs that stood watch over the Warren, Jack set the small fairy on his raised knee as he settled down on the mostly flat stone, "I need you to tell me something."

Baby Tooth perked visibly at that, near hopping on her little seat, eager to be useful and Jack steadied her with a guarding hand, "Whoa there, Feathers. I need to know... how long has it been?"

She cocked her head, the picture of puzzlement as she mulled over the inquiry, questioning in the same manner that Jack had seen many puppies do when confused and though the action was exceedingly cute, serious matters were on the table and cute was not called for, "I mean how long has it been since the Guardians..." He paused, swallowing to wet his suddenly dry throat, "Since we..."

Baby Tooth chirped up at him apprehensively, her damaged wings attempting to lift her and only managing a weak flurry that caused her small face to pinch in pain. Jack scooped her up carefully, bringing her to eye-level as she clearly desired and the feeling of tiny hands curving over the tip of his nose made him smile fondly, a little less sad, a little less alone in her tired yet stunningly exuberant company, "Hey, easy... don't hurt yourself."

The tooth fairy pressed in a little closer, the ruffled feather of her crest tickling where her hands lay and he stroked a comforting finger down her tiny arm, the small puff of her breath stirring the air between them as if she were mentally steeling herself, drawing back to huddle down in his palm. Her expression was solemn as she raised both hands, tiny shoulders braced back in a display of courage, one tiny thumb of one tiny hand folded in tightly, nine damning little digits held up for him to see. She could not speak, but her communication was clear as crystal. From the changes in Jamie, the way Sophie had grown and the erosion of the Guardians chosen sanctuaries, there was only one plausible answer.

"Nine years?" Jack choked on the words, not even recognising his own voice as it came out a horrifying rattle he couldn't bear to listen to, "It can't... are you sure?"

The little tooth fairy gave a resolute nod, mismatched eyes studious and wary as Jack looked away from her, raking one hand restlessly through snowy locks for a lack of anything else to do to convey his clear distress. His other hand lowered, the back of his palm resting over one bent knee as he pursed his lips until they were a thin pale line in the white of his face, strangely dark lashes like brush strokes on his cheeks as he closed his eyes with a quivering sigh that flared his nostrils.

The prospect of being in the world and never being seen was a painful memory, one he'd rather not dredge up for in-depth consideration after 300 years of living it as a reality, but this? He'd been here, yes, but the world had passed by without a second thought as to his whereabouts. The Guardians had either not come looking for him or not been able, and from the state of affairs in the present he was inclined to think the latter. Jack tried to swallow the anxiety that nestled itself in his throat but it felt like a walnut, wedged in his windpipe and determined to stay. He had essentially been put out of the way, stashed like an antique and in the years he had been out of commission, Hope, Wonder and Memories had been swept underfoot. The Guardians were gone. He could say it any way he liked and yet it still didn't feel real. Gone, as in never coming back. The children had stopped believing. The World was different, he was once again invisible and only one person had remained the same. That was not a person Jack would like to go seeking out anytime soon and yet it seemed if he wanted answers, there was only one place to go.

"Wait, not quite..." Deep-water eyes opened slowly to lock with those of his sullen companion, the diminutive figure still cradled in his palm looking to him with rapt attention, "There's one thing we haven't tried yet."

Baby Tooth gifted him with a confounded look but did not ask, either because she did not know how or she trusted his judgement. Either way, it most certainly would not be the pleasant visit it had been that fateful night years past, when the embodiment of light had been a small boy speaking long dead names in a snow-showered bedroom.

III

Jamie's house was easy to find, recognisable even though it stood sentry in a perfect row of identical houses, and Jack found himself perched on the ledge of a familiar window, a twinge of de-ja-vu tickling his senses. It was that odd feeling that almost convinced him he had never left. His common sense told him it had been as long as nine years since he had last been to this house but his memory swore he had been here only yesterday. Such was the cold comfort of enforced sleep.

Though the varnished wooden fencing lining the enclosed garden, the fine-trimmed grass of the lawn and the whitewash of the wooden window frames were an exact echo of the house he could remember, the room beyond the window was not the one he could recall. 

The twin bed that once took pride of place in the centre of the room, surrounded by toys and books and puzzles, had been pushed to the far wall, the patterned blue covers long gone, replaced by a deep red that was solid enough in tone to look almost black despite the light from the window. The walls were bare, no hand-scribbled pictures or animated posters to draw the eye as there had been before and aside from what looked to be notebooks on the plain three-drawer desk and a pair of muddy sneakers thrown against the wall by the door, the room did not look lived in.

Jack eased the window open, slipping through silently and watching his crook as he brought it through after him, careful not to make noise on the wooden floor as he settled his weight on it. The air was stale, dry and too thin as he moved further into the room, overheated as only enclosed space could be when filled with too many people but there was no one there but him, and it seemed there had been no one before for quite some time. 

Jack left the window wide open behind him just in case he needed to make a hasty retreat, moving in the direction of the bedroom door when a soft snuffling noise sounded from the closet, loud enough to trigger the release of his already tensed up nerves and the winter sprite crouched, staff held across his body defensively as his eyes narrowed with intensity on the wooden door. The closet was built into the wall, and looked blameless enough, but when dealing with shadows and darkness and things that go-bump-in-the-night, Jack would rather be thought a fool than to pull open a closet without suspicion.

Baby Tooth gave a startled shriek as the sound came again, followed by a soft thumping noise that rattled the closed door in its frame.

"What is that?" Jack edged closer, not daring to lift his voice above a whisper, staff raised warily as he stretched forth a hand to curl around the brassy handle, allowing himself a calming breath and a brief moment to prepare himself for whatever might come flying at him from within. When he finally built up enough courage, the cool metal twisted under the pressure of his palm and he flung the door open without allowing himself the luxury of a second-thought, leaping back a step, weapon raised to attack.

There was nothing there.

Rows of dark clothing hung in perfectly neat military lines, the two shelves above the racks stacked with opaque plastic storage boxes. In the bottom of the closet were a couple of pairs of shoes that looked as if they'd been flung in haphazardly, and a black book bag that wilted into itself with nothing to carry. Behind that, something glinted and Jack crouched, staff at the ready as he tugged aside some of the longer hanging articles of clothing, eyes widening as he fingers brushed the thin metal bars of a pet-cage.

"Oh..." Jack fell to his knees on the hard floor without notice of the noise he made, dropping his staff to lay beside him with a clatter as his fingers scrabbled in overzealous joy to find purchase on the rather small cage, dragging it forward from the far back corner of the closet. Inside, nestled in a bed of tired looking sawdust and dirty rags, a small silver rabbit was perched, familiar spikes of darker fur ridging down over the curve of his back. The little creature was curled into a ball, rolling onto its side and flailing for a moment as it struggled to catch its balance, narrowed green eyes turning to glare up at the boy pulling his cage roughly from the dark corner it had been kicked into.

"Watch it, kid!"

Jack felt his heart burst at the irate Australian accent that sounded from the dainty animal, knuckles white from the harsh grip he maintained on the metal bars as he forced himself to speak, "Bunny!"

The rabbit went rigid, ears flicking up from their downcast droop as if catching wind of an interesting conversation and sprout-green eyes squint up into the sudden brightness of the light that streamed in from the window, silhouetting the figure that held his cage. Such light, after so long in the dark was painful to look at but he forced himself to look regardless, daring to hope, and as the light dimmed to that of the clouded-over sunshine that was forecast for the day, he could make out the pale hue of frosted over-messy hair and the glacier-blue stare of someone he had not seen in over nine years. 

"Jack?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please...don't hurt me? *cowers in the corner*


	6. Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boy with a broken soul,  
> heart with a gaping hole.  
> Dark twisted fantasy turned to reality.  
> Kissing death and losing my breath.
> 
> These are hard times.  
> These are hard times, for dreamers
> 
> And love-lost believers.
> 
> Ms Mr - 'Bones'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought, seeing as it's Easter Bank Holiday, I'd put up the 'Bunny Chapter' as I've been calling it. I've been double writing, sorting out this chapter and writing a One-shot for Arebelia based upon one of my video's on Youtube (Hymn for the Missing). I have other Blackice videos up there if anyone's curious (http://www.youtube.com/user/Bellachii).
> 
> Right, let's get this baby up before Game of Thrones Season 3 starts or I shall panic and get upset XD

"Jack?"

The disbelief in the little Guardian's voice was almost palpable, the hope that cracked the word like a lit match after a century without light, flickering and fragile, as if unable to fully believe both eyes and ears that had never failed once in the lengthy span of the Easter Bunny's existence. Jack leaned closer, mouth pulling into the smallest of frowns as he identified the disbelief in a green-glass gaze, his joy at finding at least one of the Great Four tainted by the doubt in the Pooka's face. 

Disbelief. 

The word was its own sting of pain and Jack lowered his eyes to the combination lock on the door of the cage, fingers fumbling uselessly over it to disguise his disconcertion, "We have to go. Now."

"No! No, no mate, you have to get out of here, right this second, y'hear?" Small greyed paws pressed to the bars and a snuffling nose pressed through, a mere whisker's width from the frost sprite's pale knuckles, "It's dangerous. You have to go!"

"Not without you." The frost that sprung from white fingertips did not flare as immediately as he had expected and Jack grit his teeth together as he poured what he could into the lock without icing the entire cage and Bunny with it. What he managed to gather in his moment of stilted control did not hold long enough to brittle the mechanism, melting before it could settle and soaking the metal enough to send a strange scent into the air, a sour tang that tasted like rust and darkness, the small lock heating the palm of his hand unnaturally.

"Where are the others?" Jack tried to keep a straight face as he cast another searching glance around the room for a potential tool that could aid in cracking the lock, knowing it was fruitless but hoping to keep his unease concealed at the very least. Bunny's hesitance in the silence was telling. This was no simple pet-cage. 

"I don't know what happened to 'em." Tufted ears drooped, brushing through sawdust as Bunny seemed to wilt against the bars, eyes still fixed on Jack as though afraid the younger would vanish if he were to look away, and the blatant dejection in the small Guardians hunched figure was enough to make the winter spirit's face soften, "I haven't seen either of 'em since that night..."

"What happened to you? Did Jamie-" Jack felt his fingers clench around the heated lock, twisting it against the cage with an awful screech of metal on metal, the carpet before his knee's soaked through with water melted from the useless ice he had fed into the catch, "Please tell me he didn't do this to you."

"Aww, mate. Yer been gone so long..." The rabbit-equivalent of a 'stiff-upper lip' was cast up at him and Jack leaned back from it, well aware that he was trying to deny what it meant but the knowledge didn't help with the ill-feeling that turned his gut and made him slightly sick, "The last I saw of you, Pitch had us locked in the Lair. In one o' those hangin' baskets he uses to decorate. He was carryin' yer, and you were out like a light. I feared the worst." The room seemed to pulse at the name of the Shadowmancer but neither spirit noticed, the green eyes of the elder obscenely large as they gazed up through the bars at the frost sprite, catching the fading light from the window in a shimmer that was all apology, "I'm sorry. About everything I said to ya-"

"Now isn't the time for that." Jack's frustration was evident in his voice as the small, seemingly ordinary cage repelled his magic and remained disturbingly resilient, every stream of power he sent into it collapsing before it could expand enough to burst the lock, "What happened to Jamie?"

Bunny must have taken note of the steely note in his tone, loosing a sigh that slumped silver-furred shoulders, all the while maintaining a steady stare up into the over-young face that watched him, "You didn't feel it?" Dismay was written all over the Guardian's face, whiskers twitching discontentedly, "His belief is gone. Pitch was spoon-feeding him fear. Little tyke didn't stand a chance 'gainst that mongrel." 

Jack settled the cage more evenly into his lap as he worked to crack open Bunny's prison, head ducked down low enough to avoid the Guardian's gaze, "We were in the Lair for days, maybe even weeks with Nightmares prowling round us waitin' to sink their teeth into 'im. Poor kid was terrified."

Sharp milk-white incisors appeared under the curl of the silver rabbit's lips, "He ain't a poor kid no more."

"What do you mean?" 

"Pitch has his claws in 'im deep," Bunny shivered, eyes darting nervously to the bedroom door as though scared of what might come through it, "The Last Light is long gone. There ain't nothin' left in there worth savin' now."

"Bunny!" Blue eyes were wide pools of shock, but the Guardian of Hope just stared back gravely, as resolute as the day he had squared up to him in his full-fledged form in North's workshop before this mess had even started, "You haven't seen what I've seen, mate. He's not what you remember."

Jack hunched forward, curling over the cage, the bars pressing like a mini-lattice into the flesh of his cheek as he chewed his lip to silence his protests. Bunny was right enough. He hadn't been here, hadn't seen the differences in Jamie so how could he argue in the boys defence? The short time he had been in his presence since his return to Burgess was an unbelievable turnout for so gentle a creature. Was there any way to defend that kind of behaviour? What could have changed someone so wholly from a pure-hearted child, willing to believe in hope past the time it hung tattered before his eyes, to a malicious bully? Jamie's light had been the brightest he had ever seen, a pure glow on a globe devoid of any other out of millions that had expired through fear. He had even believed in Jack Frost, found room in his already full heart to grant the sprite his greatest wish, the first to do so since his conception under the moonlight over 300 years ago.

The soft pad of a small paw reached up just high enough to press against his face through the metal restrictions, claws retracted and yielding in a manner that Bunny had never looked to be in his strongest form, small furred brow trenched down over his eyes like a shadow, "I watched him change... we were locked in the pen together. Couldn't really do much, it was too high to get out and we were always bein' watched." Jack could feel his hands clench around the bottom of the cage even if he weren't consciously doing it, torn over listening to the Pooka speak and blocking out the sound.

"Pitch came to us sometimes, didn't say nothin', just watched and when Jamie was too tired to stay awake, the Nightmares came." Jack's eyes opened slowly, almost weary under the strain of continuous bad news, noting innocuously that the room seemed darker somehow as he looked down into the face that was close enough to his to nuzzle if not for the bars between, expression blank as he tried not to picture the horrors they would have pressed on the child, "I couldn't wake him... I tried everythin' but they wouldn't stop and there were so many..."

The shivery catch of breath in the small Guardian's throat sounded suspiciously like a threat of tears and the younger spirit slipped one cold finger through the bars to rub over the fluffy top of Bunny's head, as close to comfort as he could give when he himself was so heavily shaken, "He didn't wake up for days. Days, Jack! I was so worried he wouldn't wake at all and when he finally moved, I was so relieved-"

"Bunny..." Jack swallowed back the emotion threatening to overwhelm him as Bunny dropped back down onto his forelegs, a shiver that had nothing to do with temperature lancing the curve of his spine, head hung low enough to half-bury his small face in rags and sawdust, like the memory hurt to recall, "He wasn't the same. I couldn't protect myself from the horrors Pitch woke inside of him, not as I was and not as I am now."

"What did he do?" Jack was afraid to ask, heart aching with the need to scoop the diminutive rabbit to his chest and cuddle the suffering out of him, to protect the older spirit in a way he never thought he would contemplate, "What did he do to you?"

"A great many things no child should be capable of... least o' which he dangled me out the cage door by my foot for his own amusement 'til Pitch came back. Damn cur was grinnin' like a shot fox... "

Dark brows narrowed in thought, a furrow of worry there that Bunny had never seen on the flighty frost sprite, pale fingers brushing over the cage-lock and finding it cool to the touch, strangely so after the heat it had exuded before, "We can talk about this later. We should head back to the Warren, then I can try to get you out."

"No use, mate. There's some kind of enchantment, dark magi-LOOK OUT!" Bunny swore loudly as a shadow reared up behind the winter spirit and his cage toppled from previously steady hands before he could properly voice his warning, Jack's shout of surprise echoing off of the empty walls as he clawed at the wood flooring, nails making a hideous sound as he was dragged backwards by the familiar feeling of heat wrapped around his ankle, grip strong enough to make his body seize up in fear, "N-no! GET IT OFF!"

"Jack!" Bunny struggled to right himself, shaking sawdust out of his fur as he rolled, the cage lying upside down against the closet doorframe but no less sealed for it. Jack voice rose until he was screaming like he was on fire and the caged Pooka had no help to offer as he watched the smoky black lengths of shadow and glittering nightmare sand undulate across the floor to further ensnare the winter spirit, drawn to him as if he were a valuable commodity they longed to encapsulate. Jack's face was, if possible, paler than his usual snowy pallor, terrified eyes over-wide as he ignored the pain of his blunt nails, too dull to halt himself as he was yanked further away from the closet, headed for the deep black beneath the bed, the low hanging covers shifting as if concealing a living entity behind them.

Jack fought to climb to his knees, pressing them down hard as he strained towards his discarded staff, the end of it no more than an inch from the tips of his fingers and a desperate noise escaped him as he realised he couldn't reach it. The bars of the cage groaned against wood as Bunny gripped at them and rattled with all the force his small body could muster, voice more panicked than he had ever heard it as he hollered the boy's name. Jack pulled as far forward as he could manage, fingers all but brushing the wood on his staff before his leg was pulled out from underneath him and he fell hard on his hip, fists clenching, air forced from his lungs as he collapsed, no leverage to resist against the trap.

A breathless sound, almost giddy left his mouth as he realised that his hand was wrapped around the solid familiar length of the very thing he strived for but the relief did not last long, the small ring of heat around his ankle crawling higher and spreading as he was pulled halfway across the room, a thin coat of ice polishing the floor in his wake as the covers of the bed trailed warningly over the backs of his calves. Bunny gave a worried yell that he didn't hear over the creak of an opening door that he didn't notice, too busy fending off more seeking tendrils of shadow and he turned, flat onto his back, staff lifted high in preparation to blast the darkness from his skin when something else wrapped around his weapon as well.

"I don't like it when people invite themselves into my room," Jack felt his muscles clench in dread, face turning ever so slowly in shock and he stared up, frozen as he came face to face with his first believer, crouched by his side, one jean-clad knee pressed to the wooden boarding, a bare hand gripping the crook of his staff as the other came down to circle the frost sprite's throat, pinning him to the floor with surprising strength. Jack stuttered in a horrified breath as he was met with the full force of those cold dull eyes.

"J-Jamie..." His whisper was hoarse and laden with confusion, too stunned to do anything more than simply stare at the changes he had not acknowledged before. He could count every single one of those nine years in the lines of the teenage face and the hardened gaze of dull eyes. Though he was clearly not very tall and never had been, he had grown up, and done so damaged, all sneers and mockery where once there was smiles and light. Everything about him seemed terrifying to behold considering he had once been the Guardians last hope. Was he even Jamie anymore?

"Frost." The boy spat, the word spilling angrily from his lips as though it were a curse, and Jack flinched, the word cutting him deep even though it was barely a murmur above Bunny's frantic scuffling and threats, "And another little intruder, as well?"

Jack yanked on his staff, reluctant to strike at the boy who held him down as a wisp of shadow crept into the pouch of his hood, snaring the small shrieking form of Baby Tooth and lifting her clear of his protection. He had told her to keep down and keep silent before they even approached the Bennett house, determined to keep her safe at all costs. The fewer to know about her, the less dangerous things would be but it seemed Jamie was no fool. The human released his staff, as if knowing he wouldn't use it and reached up to snatch the small fairy from the shadows grasp, "Clever little feathered runt. How did you keep free?"

Jack reached out to grab after her as she squealed, Jamie's fingers crushing her wings to her back in his too-tight fist but the hand about his throat tightened and Jamie looked back down to the spirit he had pinned to his floorboards, "Think I'll send you as a present to His Royal Creepiness. Should make the old man happy..." The warm hand at his neck moved up to twist in his hair and Jack arched to accommodate the punishing grip, fingers scrabbling over the wood beneath him to push up with no luck as Jamie leaned down the brief amount needed to nuzzle at Jack's face in a parody of care, "He's been waiting so anxiously. I'm most eager to see what he'll do to you once he has you..."

Baby Tooth cried in alarm, and Bunny's cursing streaked the air blue as Jamie dropped the winter sprite to the floor again, fingers sweeping up the covers of the bed as he practically offered the other boy to the darkness.

"Let go of her!" Jack finally found the nerve to speak but it was too little too late, and he didn't have the time to do more as the shadows laced higher up his legs and gave him the abrupt yank needed to drag him into the black, the last thing he saw, a mocking kiss blown from cheerfully waving fingers as Jamie's laugh faded into silence like he had been snatched away into an entirely different world.

Jack gulped in air like it was a requirement, not able to see anything, trepidation rolling over him in waves as his heart pounded against his ribcage in a staccato rhythm that sounded like bass drums in his own ears. He couldn't pull away from the ropes that held him because there was nowhere to pull to. He couldn't see an escape even if he was given the opportunity to take one. The light faded behind him the further he was dragged, the narrow passageway like a long tunnel with no end. Only the echoes of his own panicked breath accompanied him as he was towed underground, every movement a sound that reverberated loudly in the enclosed space. Wooden boarding had long given way to solid stone under his back and belly, no amount of rolling or grabbing strong enough to halt his progression and when the stone gave way to the vast unsupportive nothingness of open air, it was all he could do to bite down hard on his own tongue to quiet the scream he would have unwittingly released in his surprise.

Nothing he reached out to held him as he slid partway down the rocky slope and tumbled the rest of the painful way, landing less than comfortably, one arm twisted up into the small of his back, the knot at the top of his staff digging in between his shoulder blades. The air was clearer here, he noted as he rolled onto his stomach with a soft grunt, a strong throbbing ache ricocheting from limb to limb in a catalogue of various hurts.

His ankle was free, he noted, leaning forward just enough to peer at what he could see of a reddened ring of blush circling his bare skin from the sand that had bound him and he rubbed at it with chilly fingers to soothe the burn from his flesh. There was barely any light to see but he looked anyway, half-surprised at the sight, and half expecting it. What else did one have to look forward to when toppling through living shadow?

The cavern was huge, bigger than he even remembered, and not well lit by any means but more than he needed to see by. The jagged walls were the desolate grey of centuries old stone that he recalled from his last visit and slanted in the strangely abstract tilt he had come to associate with the Lair. Stairways and bridges branched the expanse like corset laces in the dark, a myriad of interwoven strands that pleated like the tangle of a web and from what little he could see of the ceiling, sharp stalactites mingled among the array of wrought iron cages. He remembered this place as if it were somewhere he had visited often.

Despite preferring obliviousness, Jack did not fail to notice he was being studied in return, the soundless creep of crawling shadows slithering along the walls and lamp-like eyes threatening as they moved closer, licking at the air as they drew on his rising fear. The soft doubting whispers of the prowling fearlings trickling like a constant stream of barely there sand that increased in volume the nearer they crept. 

Jack raised his staff, climbing slowly to his feet so as not to startle them, well aware of his significant lack of camouflage as he moved away from the walls. He could bring to mind with ease, the memory of how things could change down here, air to stone and solid ground to the terror of a hollow pit.

No wind raced this far underground and he was forced to look for a way out that didn't include flight, limited severely by the drab environment and it grew darker the longer he lingered, the tide of black sweeping in on him as if sensing his confusion and despair. He moved towards one of the bridges but the way was blocked, fearlings slinking across the balustrades like spilled ink with sharp outstretched claws. He tried to move back but the way was blocked, what had once been open space now enclosed with smooth rock. He was somewhere different entirely when he turned around but they remained, circling in closer like vultures on a fresh meal and Jack spun in the dark, looking for an exit, racing into the first gap he found. 

He could not outrun them because he could not see them, so many swarming over each other now that everywhere was pitch black and they always seemed to be one step ahead of him, taunting him into brash action that backfired all too often. It wasn't long before he was on his back, the black lengths of grasping shadows catching at his hands and curling high around his legs, one so daring as to circle his upper thigh, the tight squeeze of it sending a panic signal up to his brain but he could not scream, could not announce his presence so soon.

His staff was wrenched from his grip with a sibilant hiss drenched with disdain, as if they remembered it and he clawed after his only weapon frantically. He did not reach far before they descended on him, a gasp torn from his throat without his consent as the weight of the fearlings inched over him, their bright eyes like embers that made him flinch away. Some were merely curious, prodding at him with sharp little talons, others more willing to test the boundaries, hissing past his ears with dirty little fears about his helplessness, his hopelessness and his useless efforts.

"Shut up, SHUT UP!" Jack squirmed, all his strength taking an age to seep forth into his limbs and he shook like a trapped leaf in a gale as he realised he couldn't see beyond the black, the whispers growing loud in his head as they fed from his fear, drinking it in and sinking their filthy claws into his terror to eat their fill. 

"I CAN'T SEE!"

It seemed an instant before he was a banquet of open affliction for them to gorge themselves on and they dug in deep, drawing out submerged terrors to parade before his sightless eyes. The laughter hurt the most. Children of centuries past who never saw him, the strike of lightning to the heart as they passed through him like he was tissue paper and the resounding voice of that one beloved little believer who had looked at him mere moments ago like he was something dragged in from the gutter, "Who's Jack Frost?"

A scream burst from his lips, wild and unchecked, raw as an open wound as he was buried under the weight of his own fear and he would have been content to surrender to it, to lose himself to the bliss of a silent eternity, to let them eat him alive and have it end than prolong the torture had not warm hands reached out, familiar and safe and stroking pathways over his face as they always had. It was a touch he had become acclimated to throughout the years of nothing in a restless sleep. He needed to be closer but even as he strained towards the touch he was held back, harnessed like some untameable beast unworthy of such reassurance. He needed to be closer now.

A star-struck explosion of blinding white fractured behind his eyelids, blistering cold and comforting all in the same, the weight upon him withdrawing with a mad screech. His hands were released as if he were painful to touch and without thinking, Jack dove straight for his source of consolation, too distressed to properly comprehend what was happening.

Arms surrounded him as he burrowed into the body that accompanied those soothing hands, cradling him close, a grain soft cheek nestling into the white silk of his hair and he was surrounded by the scent of dark woodland and smoke, a musky burn that tickled as he inhaled it with a soundless sob.

"Shhh..." That voice drove away his shivers, warm hands gentle in their wandering, trailing from the sides of his face, over the length of his neck to press firmly into the arch of his back as he curled in as close as he could manage, his fear blossoming with flowering heat, a tempered flame that melted him with an incoherent whimper into the embrace he had been folded into, soft and secure and wholly protective.

"It's alright now." Bright teeth glimmered in the darkness, a smug and wholly satisfied smile spread across an ashen face, in total contrast to the reassuring words, "There is nothing to fear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...anybody have anything to say to me? *snickers*


	7. My Medea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So come to me my love.  
> I'll tap into your strength and drain it dry.  
> Never have enough.  
> For you I'd burn the length and breadth of sky.
> 
> Vienna Teng - 'My Medea'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheeeee! Did anybody want this? If you do I could just leave it here for you? My wrist actually aches like I've been slamming it in the doorjamb for the past four hours so haha, I have been working hard! Thank you to all of my kudos, bookmarks and reviewers, I am truly grateful for all of your comments!

He had never seen the over-excitable spirit so docile, curled into his chest like he were the only bright spark in a sea of darkness when in counterpoint, Jack should yearn to be as far from him as were humanly, or in their case, inhumanly possible. The young sprite did not make so much as a sound, did not lift his head and had coiled into himself like a complicated knot of pale white limbs, no breath, no noise, even the shivering had ceased as he clung to the Shadowmancer, face pressed firmly into the black of the older spirits cloak, hands fisted stark as first snowfall against the shade-less fabric. Pitch braced his hands around the small body, gathering him up into an acceptable hold and lifting Jack from the stone floor but the winter sprite did not move save for the tightening of knuckles against his chest. It was all rather dull.

Pitch hadn't known what to anticipate. He certainly hadn't expected this unassuming sweetness, this need that led Jack straight to him, craving his care like a desert-wanderer craved the fresh wash of cold water over a tired dry tongue. Long arms steadied the precious bundle they carried, curved beneath locked knees and long enough still to cradle the bow of the younger's spine, the other sifting in a soothing manner through the soft twist of wind-tousled hair the colour of sun-soaked cloud as he carried his long awaited burden further into the heart of the Lair.

When he had come to the fearlings call, he had expected another lost child, screaming wildly in the Labyrinthine passages, not so much a rare sight now than it had been mere years before. It was a lot easier of late, for children to wander off on their own, poke their insolent little noses into the wrong sort of business and wind up playthings for the shadows in the bowels of the Earth. The fearlings had never been so well-fed, grown fat and contented on the souls of younglings who thought to brave the wave of fear that swept the Globe nine years past. Pitch had become almost bored of their infantile pleading, the gloating pride concerning the 'lessons' they learned in the dark all but vanished with time and repetition. Children would always be foolish, and would suffer for it.

That was why he took his sweet time seeing to the newest intrusion, approaching the swarm of his own subordinates as they gorged themselves on their latest catch with a distracted mind. It was the sight of a long-hidden shepherd's crook abandoned to the cold flat of stone floor that drew his attention and the thrill of something that felt dangerously like glee raced down his spine at the speed of a thunderclap, sudden and bursting to life inside of him.

The fearlings backed away as though burnt, their master sweeping to the ground without a care for them, golden eyes aflame as he sought the familiar contours of a youthful face in the darkness, and at his touch Jack Frost leased a cutting swell of energy, expanding out from his small shaking body as he cowered on the ground screaming at fears only he could see. A wave of glittering frost paved its way through the lair, coating everything within a reasonable distance and setting a mysterious sparkle in it that turned the darkness to the glory of a black diamond in low-light and though it was surely magnificent, Pitch did not turn his gaze from the boy who nuzzled into his hands like a pet kitten eager for a feed, glacier-blue eyes clenched ever so tightly shut as he dragged himself free of the shadows clutches to catapult himself into the arms of the Nightmare King.

Pitch tightened his grip, only a soft murmur of discontent from the boy he held as he passed through the caverns of the Lair. To be able to close his arms around the bite of Winter again was a feeling he had long denied himself the pleasure of. To feel it so willingly pressed against him, so wholly untainted by the dissonance he had spread since his triumph over the Great Four, well... it would have been a shame if he dared to even think about restraining himself despite the trauma the sprite must have endured at the hands of his demons. The trauma he was clearly still trying to fight through as he clutched himself to the nearest source of comfort like any other frightened child.

Jack looked so very diminutive when not all heatless fire and recklessness, almost delicate with none of his impatient energy and fierce eyes. Pitch had thought the same nine years ago as he had held him then, drawn under the power of the Nightmare sand into empty dreams. It had been so very hard to simply let go of the one thing that he had wanted that denied him and so he had not been able to tear himself completely away from the boy even as he laid him ever so gently in the bed of snow he had left him to sleep in, cocooned in the skin-thin layer of dark sand. It had been nothing to tie the thread to Frost's unguarded mind, a flimsy little thing that gave him passage to the sprite's disconcerting dreams, and when all suspicions and doubt were swept away and the moral compass left to rust, Jack was unerringly sweet in his compliance.

The memories of centuries of effort, of bringing joy to the faithless, of being walked though and ignored and left outside, forever in the cold with not a friend in the world that could see or hear or even gift him with a moment of free time. All of those pains and more besides stripped away the cocky bravado to lay bare the soul that yearned solely for recognition. To be seen.

The first time he had approached the too-still form of the winter spirit in his confined dreamscape, unfocussed eyes had turned to him immediately and that simple action, that moment when he could literally feel the strain of Jack reaching out with his mind to feel the space around the new spirit on this outer plane tempted him to further action. He had merely wished to observe the suffering of his chosen, to cultivate an acute sense of despair in punishment for his refusal but without the shields of caustic words and eyes cut like broken glass, Jack was almost fragile, doll-like in the frozen wasteland spread beneath his feet.

Pitch had allowed himself liberties as time had passed, certain trespasses he felt himself entitled to. The Tooth Queen had been the only one of the Great four to escape after Jack had fallen under the sleep-sand and that had only been at North's insistence. It had taken months to find her, following the scant trail of reawakened lights she sparked as she tried desperately to rekindle the belief the best way she knew how, but when cornered, she took no time at all to subdue. The last Guardian had been dealt with not a year past the fall of the other three, the small flame of hope she had lit in her short time of freedom snuffed out easily enough, Nightmares spreading far and wide to blanket every child's dreams in darkness and after that victory? After eight months of standing aside and watching the snow spirit wander aimlessly in his dreamscape without a sound, without a single motivation in the world, Pitch had moved in close and cupped an impossibly soft cheek in his warm hand.

The cold was a quiet rush he revelled in but it was nothing compared to the way dulled blue eyes widened into the shimmer of sunlit ocean waters, bright with wonder and hesitation both, his own hand rising as if to check that he was being touched at all.

Pitch found very quickly after that how to cause Jack the most pain. Though unaware as most dreamers were inside their own heads, and listless in lethargy, Jack seemed to light up with the briefest touches. The grief on that youthful face when Pitch kept his distance, refusing himself the bliss of contented eyes slipping shut to savour the magic of skin to skin contact just to spite the younger spirit was almost as painful to him as it was to the boy who's despair was as delicious as his fear. When he lingered close but refused to touch, sometimes Jack would move, twitching just so, a slight shift of the hand as if wanting to reach out himself, but the dream would never compel him enough to make the first move and so he simply looked on with those sightless begging eyes. 

Sometimes it wasn't as bad as all that. Sometimes Pitch would relent, would graze the tips of his darkened fingers over the lids of half-shuttered eyes, or brush back the winter-messy strands that fell across a smooth forehead, and Jack would sigh, the softest of sounds near swallowed up by the silence before they had a chance to be heard. The slender body would half-lean as if encouraging pressure or enticing for a longer more fulfilling touch and the Nightmare King would allow himself the smallest of seemingly benevolent smiles, wise to the game and refusing to give in to the demand.

It was a shock to the system when he eventually discovered, just as Jack yearned for his touch in the times they spent together, he in turn wished to give the boy what he craved and of his own volition no less, as that icy skin was a delight against the heat of his own even in the realm of dreams. 

Outside of it, Jack was even more of a treat, the cold sharper and more at home in the dark than Pitch could have imagined, the press of a cold cheek to the exposed sliver of skin through the parted fabric of his robe like a calming drought and it was difficult to surrender his grasp on the smaller sprite as they phased through shadow without a breath between rooms to stop beside a shallow stone-well, full to the brim with soft cushions, a nest of sorts in a purple so deep it looked black in the muted light of the Lair. Pitch stepped down into the well, the pillows dipping under his weight as he bent to relieve himself of the creature he held, more than a little surprised at the gasp of breath and the tightening of fists in his cloak as Jack tried to refuse the loosening grip around his body, clinging with all his strength to the comfort he so coveted.

"Now, now..." He soothed and though the words had no effect, the sound of his voice seemed to reassure the younger spirit who did not open his eyes, instead drawing into himself as he was set into the softness of the nest, knees tucked up to his chest, hands grasping tightly to his shoulders as he hugged at himself. Pitch analysed the smaller spirit with a patronising smile. Such a strong dose of fear after so long in the clear of it must have done some serious damage to his self-reliance and he reached out, the grey-dusted skin of his own hand a dark smudge against the purity of the younger's pearlescent tresses, leaving his hand to rest atop the tangled crown.

Jack relaxed minutely under the pressure of the firm touch, lashes fluttering just barely as he settled into the support of the cushions without a care for where he was or who was with him and Pitch stifled a chuckle at such careless behaviour. How like a fledgling sprite. Before that mess with the Guardians, Jack had probably never had to watch his back in all his 300 years, more than likely due to the lack of belief. He'd probably gone out of his way to annoy other spirits, trying to draw some kind of attention, even if it weren't the appreciative sort he would have preferred but being a lesser spirit with no regard earned whatsoever, he wasn't anywhere near a level for people to bother with retribution. Even the Easter Bunny had written Jack Frost off after the Blizzard of '68, seeking no kind of vengeance for the ruination of his holiday at all. Outside of petty barbs, the overgrown rodent hadn't spared Jack a second thought at all until Pitch had seen fit to threaten the belief of children and the winter sprite had been chosen by the Moon to defend them.

So indeed, why should Jack fear when he'd had no need to before?

Pitch withdrew his hand and stepped back, drinking in the picture of the one he had long left in the Antarctic cold as he remained, calm and curled if not content in the lavish bed that had lain as long unused as the boy had been in the grip of the Nightmare sand. 

It had been at least two days since his Mares had returned to the Lair with news of an infiltration at the Pole and he would have never thought that it would have been the news he had been waiting for but he was glad for it none-the-less. 

_Young, Rider of Winds,_ the Mares had told him, _with a mane of snow and a weapon of significant power._

The Mares themselves had been as restless as he, eager for some sort of challenge and raring for a fight so when these few had cantered happily into the midst of the rest, they had spread wide to search out this rogue spirit that dared venture into the now forbidden fortresses of what had been four indomitable spirits and had courage enough to stand his ground when threatened.

Pitch had known when they had given him the vague description of their almost-captive. It didn't take long to double-check. The thread had snapped. The tiny link Pitch had held between his own mind and that of the sleeping boy he had hidden away was gone, and that was the only confirmation he needed to know that Jack Frost walked the Globe once more.

The Dark Spirit moved to the nearest shadows, melting into them seamlessly, eyes never once leaving the still form, lying limp as a ragdoll in his bed, snow-bright in the gloom. Jack was overwhelmed, not broken, and when he awoke?

Wasn't that something to look forward to?

III

Jack awoke to a quiet hum beneath his skin, a vibration akin to a whisper across every inch of his body. It was dark and cosy, temperature hovering a few degrees above what he would deem perfect but the cushioning beneath his back cradled him just right and were he not suddenly aware of the uncomfortable sensation of eyes upon him, he would have quite easily slipped back into the clutches of sleep.

He nudged his head back a bare inch from where his chin was resting snug against his collarbone and drew in a quiet steady breath through mostly closed lips, struggling to keep his face neutral as he peered beneath his lashes, searching for any sign of his staff. A small knot of panic tangled in his stomach when he realised he couldn't immediately locate it and without his permission, his fingers began to crawl across the bedding to find it. It wasn't there. Where was it? Who took it? The dark was suddenly too dark, verging on oppressive as he gave in to his instincts, pressing his palms to the cushions and springing to his feet, leaping up from the nest of cushions he had been safely ensconced in and right into the path of the eyes that watched him. Dread was the tiny prickle of a thousand needles across the clothed skin of his shoulders as he stared up into a familiar narrow face.

"It's been a long time, Frost."

Pitch seemed taller somehow, more imposing as if the spread of fear was permission enough to become even more frightening. His face was an array of shadowed dips and curves that Jack recalled with too much clarity to feel comfortable about and the slow-burn of his eyes, eyes that flared like embers in the dark, able to sear skin from bone with the slightest glance were just as penetrating and unnerving as they had been the first time Jack had found himself lost inside the maze of the Lair. They looked through him and picked out the parts they liked best, the sharp turn-up of the corner of the Shadowmancer's mouth mocking as he stared down at the stunned winter sprite. 

Jack felt unsteady in the wake of that gaze, forcing back the urge to start a fight he knew he was not strong enough to win yet, wanting to break the eye-lock they seemed to find themselves in but he didn't trust the Boogeyman to maintain his violent-free mode while his back was turned leaving him no chance to either locate his staff or find his way out of wherever in the Lair he had been moved to- and when had they moved? What happened?

He could remember the ambush in the unlit passages as the fearlings crawled over him and the shadows sang horrible little snippets of his own doubts back to him in voices he used to recognise. He could remember the tremor through his bones as the soft heat of familiar hands curled around his jaw and the blinding white as he pushed himself towards that touch in fierce yearning. Those hands had only ever been kind, only ever loved him and the joy at their return to him curdled in his stomach as Pitch smiled at him, that slow knowing look that made any person with an ounce of humility feel three inches tall and incredibly stupid.

"It was you!" Jack backed away quickly as Pitch moved forward, feet tripping awkwardly as he stumbled back into the nest, the short drop disorientating him, "You were in my head the whole time!"

"And a pleasant visit it was, too." The dark spirit intoned, slight smile widening to a grin as sharp as a shark's tooth, "I did not expect you to extend such a courtesy to me, considering we parted ways on..." A brief pause as Pitch gave a deep chuckle, enough to rattle the spiking temper of the other, "unstable ground."

"Extend courtesy?" Jack parroted back with something suspiciously high in his voice, volume unchecked and bouncing off the walls to advertise his displeasure, "YOU were in my HEAD! Gate-crashing MY nightmares!"

"I would never have been able to do it without your permission." Pitch reached forward a hand that Jack merely stared at, lip curled in anger, "I was invited." 

"I wouldn't have-" For a moment, it appeared Jack had nowhere to look, the sudden lost expression on his face striking a chord in the elder spirit that made him want to sweep the elemental into the dark corners of the world and hold him there, kicking and screaming if need be.

"Would you not?" Pitch cocked his head in a somewhat reflective manner, voice softening to the cajoling tone he habitually used when he was trying to persuade, his tone dripping with condescension, "Tell me, Snowflake... who else would you allow passage to your innermost thoughts?" Pitch stepped down into the well, the loss in height doing nothing to quell Jack's nervousness at being overshadowed, "Who else could best understand the deep loneliness you fear?"

Jack looked stricken for a short second, hands flexing as if around something that wasn't there, the solid presence of his staff missing from his grip and his entire posture screamed fight or flight with no weapon to defend himself. He knew that Pitch was stronger, knew how fast he had been overcome when he was at full-charge and armed and now, here, in this place, with no weapon and no hope, already at a lack for many things he also had no chance. He could feel the weight of the other's gaze upon him as he stared up, a tangible thing that held him still no matter how desperately he wanted to flee and his skin felt too tight, muscles aching from tension as every eloquent word cut through him like steel.

"I did not lie to you." The words were not soft, dipped in the finest edge of anger only clear in the bite of the voice that spoke them, the elder spirit staring holes into the core of the sprite before him, fighting not to cower, "All that was said in the South was the truth, no cheap ruse to assure your compliance-"

"I'm sorry!" Jack clasped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide in horror as he stared at the shadow that had haunted his dreams. He had not meant to speak. Pitch regarded him with a contemplative look, a twist in his mouth that looked like he was fighting the urge to smile, his ashen face as expressive as it had ever been, "Something you wish to say to me, Jack?"

The frost sprite shook his head frantically. He hadn't meant to say anything, though the deep well of empathy that flood through him as he remembered the tired and altruistic expression he had been faced with as Pitch had entreated him in Antarctica burned inside his mind and the urge to apologise had struck him for the briefest moment. He had not chosen to speak and yet he did, compelled by something he did not understand.

"Now is not the time to be coy. There are ways..."

Words bubbled up the back of his throat and Jack turned away from Pitch as his hands squeezed, fingers digging painfully into the flesh of his own cheeks. 'What is happening?' It felt just as it had in the North Pole, the sudden want to not fight, to just surrender himself but he could not and his resistance hurt, thoughts railing madly against the confines of his skull, that strange vibration just below his skin buzzing loudly in his ears like a kicked hive of Honey Bee's.

"Won't you speak to me, Jack?" The voice was all around him even if he could still feel Pitch's ominous presence cast over his back, and the sound of it was almost blissful in its suggestion. The electricity that rode the under-layer of his skin rose in a wild frenzy and Jack screamed, fingers reaching up to tear at his own hair as he fought against the compulsion. Immediately, hands were there, calming and saturating him with reassurance in an unearthly manner as he collapsed to his knees in the bed of cushions, the pressure easing as Pitch fell silent and Jack dry-heaved, air rushing down his throat as he drew breath, heaven to his starved lungs despite its stale flavour, giving him something else to focus on as he shrugged at the hands touching him, failing to dislodge them, "Get away from me and s-stay out of my head!"

The Shadowmancer's laugh was amused, feeding itself around the cavern to resonate until it sprang back from every dark corner in a cacophony of sound, "Oh my dear sweet little Frostling-" Jack squirmed with a choked rebuttal as the heated figure at his back pressed in close, drawing him back into the Boogeyman's lap, his flailing arms not doling out the damage he expected as he tried to twist free, "I am not so selfless as to stop there."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Jack snapped, frost spiralling over his skin in fresh ferns as an ash-grey hand managed to subdue one of his wrists, "I said get OFF of me!"

Breath washed over the shell of his ear, the heat of a too-close flame that melted the ice woven into his hair, "Is it not cause for concern that you have not yet managed to strike me?"

"I'm _trying_ to get to that-" Jack near bit his tongue in surprise as Pitch tightened his grip around the trapped wrist, fingers long enough to restrain without effort before he renewed his struggle, lashing out with his legs to try and buck free of the grip, and wasn't the little sprite just so cute when he was angry? 

"Stop for just a minute and think about it, Jack." The winter spirit gasped out a shocked noise as the elder's free hand slipped beneath the hem of his sweatshirt to feather hot fingers over his stomach and he grasped at the exposed wrist, focussing all of his strength into it, the jagged cut of ice he anticipated emerging as delicate curls of frost, "W-what?"

Heat danced over each individual rib of his chest, teasing at skin pulled taut over bone as Pitch nuzzled harder against the trapped boy's ear with a wicked smile, "Try to hurt me, Jack. Try to hurt me or I won't stop..." The hand up his shirt became more adventurous, roaming further up to stroke over sensitive flesh and the body it played over arched into a sharp curve, white teeth clamping down hard on a lower lip to keep any noise subdued.

Jack tried again, desperate to stop whatever madness was happening, summoning all of his strength to unleash the forces within him that had laid untapped before the loss of Sandy and the oncoming wave of Nightmares had broken the seal. He could feel the cold surge beneath his skin, whole and refreshing and waiting to be released but as he tried to press it forth from his core, it simply stopped, restrained somehow and painfully furious. The winter sprite writhed in distress in the elder's grasp, craning his neck down to find out why.

Pitch drew up the fabric of the blue hoodie to reveal the dark glow spread over the boy's chest, blocking the arctic freeze that begged to be liberated from its prison. Black sand glittered over his body but as Jack reached down to touch it, all he could feel was the bare flesh of his own stomach and he realised with a sickening wave of revulsion that it was...

It was _INSIDE_ of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, cliffhanger! *shifty eyes*


	8. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel the sense beginning.  
> The beginning through the end.  
> There's nothing left to fear now.  
> So watch me close  
> as once again you... 
> 
> Burn me alive.  
> Set me on fire,  
> and watch me die.  
> Burn me alive.  
> Watch me resurrect right before your eyes.
> 
> In this Moment - 'Burn'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hai thar! Please don't murder me. I am well aware that I made you all wait and I apologise most sincerely for the delay but I've been stupidly, dramatically ill (my immune system and I are gonna have a little chat when it stops being such a tremendous bag of dicks) and not only that but I was ill AWAY FROM HOME! Which means, bedridden and no laptop. Can I tell you how much that sucks? ...okay, I shall refrain.
> 
> Uh, to make it up to you, please enjoy the tasty treats I place in this chapter. I do hope you like them... *grins lasciviously*

It was everywhere, a dark miasma that shone from within, given light from the essence of his core. The frost that made him so very pale only made the darkness stand out so much more in comparison and Jack felt his chest heave, breath a series of short, sharp beats as he lost himself to panic. It was like an intermittent bruise, cascading black as oil-slick down from his chest and over his stomach, spread out in darkened blotches like the block islands of North's globe and Jack kicked at the floor, shaded hands holding him firm as he reached up to yank at the sleeve of his sweatshirt, his captured wrist tugging for freedom. It was EVERYWHERE! Jack stared horrified at his hands, the backs of his palms painted with thin strings of sand like dark spider-webs, almost artistic in their scatter but he had no time to contemplate pattern and form, drawing his sleeve down further to stare at his blemished arms.

"No, no, nonono," He didn't even realise he was speaking as he drove blunt nails into his own skin, dragging them deep to gouge out the abomination but assertive hands took a hold of his own and pulled them apart, a croon softer than a lullaby more mocking than actual mocking itself so close against his back he could feel the rumble of the Nightmare King's chest as he spoke, "Now, let's have none of that..."

"What did you DO?" The glitter of the sand began to fade as the arctic coil of power receded and at length, pale skin was as perfect as before, unmarked, unsullied and Jack fervently wished it to be a nightmare. Pitch was, after all, most uncannily adept at providing in that department, "What did you do to me?"

The winter spirit renewed his struggle after a second too long of silence and let out a startled curse as he was unexpectedly released, Pitch making no attempt to stop him as he toppled face-first into the nest of pillows. Jack turned piercing eyes upon the Shadowmancer, the lean imposing figure rising to his feet, as ominously tall as the very darkness they were surrounded by fed his strength, an expression on his face that practically sang 'I know something you don't know' and wasn't that just the most infuriating look in the world?

"You woke much earlier than expected, and just as we were getting along so well," The Nightmare King's smile was all teeth, gleaming like bleached bone in the dim light that filtered down through the high vaults of the cavern, "But it is no matter. The conclusion will be the same-"

Jack hunched his shoulders down low, tensing to stop the tremble of anger that rolled through them, and Pitch was looking at him as though he were something darling that needed shelter. Nothing in all his years had ever made him so overwrought as to be spoken down to like he were some empty-headed child, "Don't pull your cryptic mind-crap on me."

Pitch glanced away with an indulgent smile and wasn't that just twisting the knife?

Something soft hit him square in the face with relative force and the usually well-balanced Nightmare King stumbled backwards in surprise, more awkward than elegant, hands rising to catch the offending weapon. His fingers closed around the plush velvet of a bed-cushion and he stared at it for a moment before he looked to the perpetrator of the crime, more than a little bewildered. Had Jack Frost just initiated a pillow-fight with the Destroyer of Worlds?

Blue eyes were cut cold enough to burn as Pitch raised a brow at the insolent sprite, pale hands fisted warningly in the stuffing of yet another pillow, "Was that really necessary?"

He sidestepped the next throw, Jack's aim astonishingly accurate, no doubt accrued from 300 years of snowball fights and as he turned a gloating smile back to his captive, ready to lease a chastisement that would surely shame the wildling from anymore petulant behaviour, his eyes came to rest on an empty bed. A distraction.

Jack ran, the Wind of little aid to him so far beneath the ground, dodging the sudden appearances of blackened walls, skipping stone bridges and twisted stairwells without waiting to chart a map. Every shadow moved from the corner of his eye as he left that unlit room behind, brimstone eyes ablaze in the obscure corners of the narrow passages as they watched him, making no move to screen his vision or block his path, content to watch him try. 

Pitch made no sound in his pursuit, and he was pursuing, of that there was no doubt, but then being a Master of Shadows had its perks. Blending seamlessly into the dark being one, using the walls of the Lair to echo noises that drove him away from certain directions for another. Jack knew these were all mind games, tricks used to lure him down a particular route but try as he might, his instincts were triggered by each and every hint and no matter how he tried to stay them, he flinched, he tensed and he changed course, berating himself the entire way. These were feeble, underhanded tactics and he hated that such subtle horrors could spook him like that, he who laughed in the face of danger, threw caution to the Wind as a chew toy and outright said 'No' to the Boogeyman.

A familiar shape broached the dark on his right with outstretched hands and Jack vaulted, escaping the snatching clutches just barely with only a sharp drop before him. He swallowed every ill feeling inside him that told him to turn around and threw himself from the parapet beneath his feet, a black void verging the gap between ledges and with no way to stop, speed too great and nothing to grab onto to halt his whip thin body as sheer momentum carried him onwards, all he could do was let himself go.

He was just close enough to hope when the sensation of ropes wound around his limbs mid leap, just close enough to think he was there and the fact he had been caught after he'd even dared to try and pull that stunt was enough to make him grit his teeth in frustration. He knew it was too much to ask for to flee the Lair when Pitch was at his strongest and to make matters worse, he was still short one very old, very crooked weapon.

"A wasted effort, Frost." The soft tut to accompany the statement sounded far more amused than Jack would have liked, and he didn't bother to hide it, curling his lip as he dangled over the depthless precipice by his ensnared wrists, darkness looped around his flailing ankles as he tried to worm his way free, "Took your smoky Octopi long enough to catch on. If they were any lazier, I'd be long gone!"

Pitch laughed, deep and genuinely entertained and though Jack couldn't see him, couldn't even hazard a guess at which gloomy corner he might be prowling in, he could imagine the serrated smile on the others face, picture the wicked gleam of viciousness in mercurial eyes, gold and silver bled together like melded ingots in firelight. The winter sprite gave one hard tug to the grip of the shadows on his wrist, not nearly enough strength to force them from himself by sheer will alone and he would never admit it aloud but he was too unsettled by the most recent revelation of the poison under his skin to try and force them away with his frost unless the situation spiralled into something ridiculously dire, "Gonna let your pet tentacles have all the fun while you lurk in corners like a big, bad villain?"

Okay, so he wasn't aiming for dire, but he'd never been good at locating lines before he'd crossed them. Another laugh filled the Lair, seemingly calling from every tunnel and open pit to tangle harmoniously in the still air. Pitch was always a bit dramatic.

"Insult the shadows at your own peril, foolish boy." Something slick and altogether uncomfortable slithered across his cheek and Jack jerked away from it with a disgusted noise, not quick enough to pick it out in the growing dark, "I might save what's left of you once they have dealt their punishment, should you ask me nicely."

"You know," Jack started sweetly, eyes flickering about in the dark to locate the elder spirit, cold and sharp and in complete contrast to the saccharine note in his voice, "I'd rather ask you, nicely of course, to go screw yourse-" The frost sprite leased a slew of profanity as all but one ankle was released without warning and he dropped just far enough to make his heart leap into his throat, swinging over the abyss with a singular shadow for support and no Wind to catch his fall.

"Perfect." He muttered, throwing his hands over his head in a display of childish frustration, hastily pulling them back to keep his hoodie from slipping over the narrow jut of his hipbones and gripping the blue fabric tight to keep it where it usually lay when he wasn't being strung up like a Christmas bauble, "Absolutely perfect. Go on then, Pitch, I dare you!"

"You dare me, Jack?" The honeyed tone was syrup thick and laced with something decidedly dark that was near indecipherable without the angles of Pitch's expressions to make it plain. A shift in the open space to the right made Jack turn towards it but everything stilled before he could discern anything more than the restless stirring of living shadow, "What do you dare me?"

If Jack were cautious, he wouldn't answer that question. If he were careful, attentive and perceptive, he would find the peaked curiosity in the question, he would study it, he would dissect it and find nothing but trouble. If Jack were anything other than the headstrong, will-ridden, boisterous show-pony Bunny so often used to accuse him of being, he would have stepped back and refused to light that particular fuse. As it was, the latter categories were his most accurate descriptions and most if not all of them were detrimental to the development of self-preservation so often found in those of the reluctant disposition. Jack had never struggled with reluctance.

"Do your worst."

At first nothing happened, the words hanging heavy in the air like condensed moisture on a humid day, the ring of them echoing off the rock walls and out from the cavern below. There was a beat of silence, a single second where nothing moved and Jack felt for that one brief moment that he had been left alone. 

Then he felt it, a subtle heat against his back where he dangled, not close enough to touch but there, a solid presence over his shoulder that he could not turn to see and a whisper of breath that made his neck prickle with awareness, "Very well."

He could feel as Pitch moved away but he was quickly distracted from tracking the Nightmare King's movements by a slow tickling sensation beneath his skin, persistent enough to catch his attention but nothing more, akin to being brushed by one of Tooth's tail-feathers as she flit past, a minute sense of strange that made him shift ever so slightly with a frown. The shadow that held him did not so much as move as he craned his neck up to peer at it, and it felt like he was dangling from a fixture rather than a sentient creatures grasp.

The light tickle became more insistent, like a rash over every inch of his body though there was no physical evidence that he could see so far. Jack fidgeted, fighting the urge to scratch at it as he swayed a little from his aborted movements, searching the darkest patches of black in the Lair for the familiar glow of silver-gold eyes, more of a distraction than anything else to keep from voicing the fractious noises he so wanted to lease.

"What is this?" He huffed when nothing further came, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like North, urging him to hold his tongue, "Is this Tickle-time? Grow up, Pitch!"

Nothing happened. The soft itch racing under his skin caused more irritation than fear and after a few minutes, he could almost completely ignore it. Of course, that was when it chose to amp itself up, the minor itch turning to the quick sting of needles over his skin, clothed and exposed alike and it was only as the sting increased to a recognizable level that Jack realised with dawning horror what it felt like. Slower, more assured by creeping over him like a steady wave, the heat began to rise and as he became aware of it, it became the one thing he couldn't ignore. It seemed that instead of overpowering him from the outside as it had done before so long ago when it had drawn him down to sleep, the black sand was working to overthrow him from within. It obeyed its Masters call and as before, there seemed no way to stop it.

The air grew thicker as everything gradually warmed and Jack hung there uselessly, wide awake as it was clear Pitch had wanted him to be, fingers clenched around the hem of his hoodie as he braced himself against the high temperature, stifled as the hot air clamoured to surround him. He could feel his damp hair plastered to his forehead and curling around his ears, melted frost wetting his clothes in almost no time at all with how much had decorated them and they clung to him like a second skin. Any frost he tried to summon to dispel the heat melted over him in warm rivulets that only seemed to worsen the situation and he could feel it taxing the little reserves he could access, exhausting the outside of his core he could reach without the pollution of the Nightmare sand. Every time he tried to push deeper, to dig for more his grasp came away empty, chest heaving in harsh pants of effort as he tried to force his magic through the enforced block.

Jack felt feverish, a haze descending over him and painting everything a light pink. Even his hands as he lifted them to rub excess moisture from his face wore a flush of rose as alike to human skin as he had ever seen it and he let out a tortured moan as the heat only increased not used to the sensation that was the blood-rush in his head from hanging upside down so long. His own blood had never defrosted long enough to circulate in such a problematic way and it made it so very hard to concentrate, to even think.

"You look so very beautiful right now..." The familiar voice was a hairs breadth from the shell of his ear, deeper than he'd ever heard it and the mocking purr of the elder spirits accent was a scorching brand all of its own, "So very vulnerable. Where is your challenge now, Frost?"

Jack twisted, swinging his arm out to hit nothing but empty air. There was no cool breeze for a short respite as momentum took him, only warm air ruffling the damp locks of his hair and brushing against him in a way that made him wish he hadn't moved at all, "Eat snow, you evil bean-pole!"

A soft laugh danced around him from everywhere at once, just quiet enough and of a chord to make him shiver despite the heat, "How is it, Jack? You wear humanity so very well..."

The temperature spiked, the sudden jolt to a higher degree enough to startle an unmitigated whine from the strangle of his parched throat, "W-what-" Jack licked at his lips, even the cool flick of his own tongue not enough to chill him, the words he forced from his mouth more reedy and thin than he anticipated, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Can't you feel it?"

Blue eyes blinked open in the dark, unable to see anything other than blurred shapes in the pink haze, too tired to wipe the water, at least he hoped it was water, from his skin, "All thirty-eight toasty human degrees lighting you on fire?"

"Thirty-eight?" The number was a panicked yelp and Jack flailed against his better instinct, only serving to make himself dizzy as he shifted like a pendulum in the shadows grasp, too exhausted and lethargic to counter the movement.

"Oh yes," The hint of gloating in Pitch's voice was more insulting than if he'd outright brag, and it was close enough that Jack flinched in shock at the proximity, "Helpless as a damsel. You can't conjure anything in this state."

Pitch's fingers were not the gentle heat of shadow that they usually were to Jack's negative body temperature. Wrapped in this uncomfortable warmth, the fingertips that soothed over the damp skin of his face were the numbing cold of fear, of the overwhelming shock that raced icy trails down your spine and the chilling terror of being along in the dark. If he were in his right mind, he would marvel over the novelty of being able to feel cold at all when he was the physical embodiment of the feeling but thought was complicated and cold was bliss.

Jack nuzzled into those now frigid hands with a starved gasp of breath, trying to breath it and soak it into his skin like he could make it a part of himself, not even completely aware of what was happening as those hands curved around his jaw to tilt him up and he stiffened as thin lips sought his own, prying them open without hesitation. 

Pitch pressed in close and quick, swallowing Jack's half-hearted protest, trailing his fingers down the pale column of the frost sprite's throat and over his chest to pry the heavy soaked fabric of his hoodie from clenched fingers. Jack put up a meagre fight, throwing his head back as far as he could manage to avoid those searching lips even as Pitch worked his hands up beneath the warm sweatshirt but his feeble struggles were less than a challenge, hands flung wide and not quite sure what he should do with them as he was pulled forward into the elder spirit.

"Shh..." Pitch followed the sprite as he tried to back away, held in place as he was and attached his mouth instead to the bare length of neck just begging to be marked. Jack mewled, completely unused to the mess of chaos that was inside his body. Never had he been touched so much, never had he been thrown so far from his comfort zone, never had he felt so delirious with heat and mindlessness, but oh it was glorious how the sweeping thrill of fear rode his veins like glacial ice and hands followed, smoothing up the bare flesh of his back as his hoodie hung down over his chest, far too heavy to hold up against Pitch's insistence. Everywhere the Shadowmancer touched was blessedly cool heaven and though he knew this was wrong, knew he shouldn't want it, the reprieve from the fire that seared him was something entirely decadent that he couldn't get quite enough of.

Cold winter kisses chased with terror lanced over his throat, cold stripes of wonderful dragged in circles over his back, even where he was pressed to the others chest gave him such a relief from the heat he was nearly catatonic with an overload of pleasure. That would be why, he would tell himself later, when Pitch mouthed up over his jaw, Jack turned his head to capture that mouth and hold it with his own. His arms laced around the ashen neck of the elder as he licked into his mouth like he was dying for it, chasing the chill of fear on his tongue and pressing into the much cooler length of Pitch's body with only thoughts of More! and Yes!

Long fingers spider-webbed over the length and breadth of his back, spreading the chill evenly over flushed skin, duelling into the ardent kisses from the thawed Frost sprite's willing mouth with silent enthusiasm. Jack moulded to him like fresh clay, pliant and yielding and the Nightmare King was all too pleased to give the boy what he yearned for.

This was everything he had wanted. This was the reason he had spared Jack the grief and horror of disbelief, the pain of losing his first true believer fragmented throughout nine years of sleep, long enough to turn a crippling agony to a constant pressure that felt like nothing more than a breeze. The sweet taste of the sprite in surrender was a triumph on his taste buds that sang in symphonies of crisp mint and cool waters and the desperation through every inch of his small wiry body was evident as Jack curled small pale hands into gripping fists in ebony hair.

The shadows seemed to revel in their Masters contentment, swaying along the walls with no apparent sinister intent, and as the grip around his ankle faltered, the winter spirit drew up all the courage he could summon in his weary state, encouraging fingers turning talons as Jack bit down viciously on the muscle inside his mouth, pressing his hands to Pitch's shoulders to give himself something solid to push off from. 

Pitch withdrew from the kiss as though burned, surprise charging the adrenaline racing through him as he backed away quickly to assess the damage with an angry snarl and Jack swung his body up with the last of his strength to wrap fingers tightly around the dark length that held him by his ankle, the entity black and slick beneath his grip. It didn't take the elder long to recover and as Pitch rose through the dark, the younger kicked down at him, not up to his usual aim by any standard but enough to strike the Boogeyman in the chest with enough force to jar. The shadows snapped in agitation, Jack biting off a panicked cry as his restraint withdrew, leaving him to dangle by the paltry grip of his own hand, that slipping slowly through his clutches with a particularly disgusting feeling of trying to hold onto a handful of elasticised damp earth.

"That was quite unpleasant, Jack."

Pitch was watching him, an unreachable step away but still close enough to see his face, schooled into a displeased scowl, hands clasped behind his back in a patient manner that was betrayed by the kindling anger in his molten eyes.

"You're telling me!" Jack shot back, trying to give himself enough momentum with his legs to wrap another hand around the stretch of shadow in his grasp, grimacing at the feel of it, "Lightly toasted is not a description I would like applied to myself ever again!"

"You put yourself in this position you impudent little wretch," Pitch was suddenly a scant inch from his nose, shocking him nearly enough to release the tenuous hold he had to support him, "And if it were not for my influence beneath your skin, that shadow you cling to would be nothing but smoke in your hands."

"You've ruined me!" Jack screamed back, flinging as much of his emotions into the words as he could stomach, the vaults of the cavern resonating with a force he could feel tearing itself free from his throat, "You've infected me! I'd rather face another 300 years unseen than see this plague inside me as any sort of blessing!"

Pitch reared back as though struck, and for a split second, Jack could swear he saw pain rip a raw wound through the elder's composure. The expression wasn't there long enough to be sure.

The shadows slipped through his palms like silk and his cry of alarm was swallowed back down as a large long-fingered hand wrapped around the neck shaded lips had been all too eager to worship, tight and uncompromising, a snarl on the others face that exposed lines of wickedly sharp teeth, enough to make him stiffen in fear. Pitch drank it in like an especially well-seasoned wine, drawing the winter spirit closer and staring into wide cornflower eyes with a malicious grin as Jack hung limply in his grasp, fatigued and not really sure how to recover yet. 

"Time changes many things."

Jack had no air to scream as Pitch flung him backwards, the air shifting unnaturally around his unsupported body, the Lair dissolving and manifesting as it had the first time he had thoughtlessly wandered into it. His back hit the rusted bars of one of the cages suspended from the main chamber ceiling and he was barely able to save his own face from a collision with the bottom of it when the clang of the cage door resounded in his ears with a note of finality.

"You need some time to think on your mistakes." Pitch circled the suspended prison, stepping the air as easily as if it were a smooth stone floor beneath his feet, proud as a stalking panther and Jack backed away from the bars before he could get too close, "I would have thought that the years in Antarctica would have been enough but clearly I was mistaken..."

"Not mistaken," Jack hissed, "Wrong. Everything about you is wrong."

A hand shot through the bars on his right as Pitch shifted through the dark air with the speed of a rattlesnake, and Jack noted that though the bars were barely an inch apart, Pitch seemed to possess the skill to phase through the metal as though it were a part of him. The hand snatched a fistful of his hair in a tight grip and Jack sank his teeth into his lip to muffle his gasp of pain.

"You will see, Jack." His hands came up to press at the bars as he was pulled across the metal floor, shadow stained metal biting into his cheek as Pitch's lips ghosted over the side of his face in a way that was extremely familiar and Jack could hear the grind of his own teeth as he tried to press back from the bars, "You'll see that all you've ever needed is me."

"You're deluded and insane."

The hands in his hair twisted, a few strands of moonlight ripping at the root as Pitch purred a chuckle in warm breath against his face through the cage.

"The clock is ticking, snowflake. You will see things differently." Fingers slid in a slow caress over the plump swell of a slightly bruised lower lip and Jack fought the urge to bite.

"And when that happens, I will welcome you with open arms."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was it to your liking? Am I forgiven?


	9. The Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I live in a dream  
> With open eyes I breathe again.  
> I see all your fears.  
> Together we can feel,  
> we can heal  
> and take the road less travelled on.  
> To here, in the new  
> Like diamonds we will shine.  
> We will rise.
> 
> Globus - 'The Promise'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a bad life. Thankfully I managed to escape it long enough to write out this chapter. I've rewritten it three times because I was so stressed with everything that's going on that I judged myself harshly and deleted it. 
> 
> I'm sorry for the delay.

The small bedroom was unlit, curtains wide at the window ledge but the drab light that filtered in through the glass was that of a darkening afternoon, what little light escaping heavy cloud cover throwing shadows into sharp relief across the barren walls. It was more than enough to work with and the darkness swarmed, coalescing into a lean shape in the blackest corner, eyes a gleaming shade of fools gold intermittent with strikes of silver so bright they cut like knives.

"Didn't think you'd be distracted so soon." The lazy sprawl of the human body on the bed did not shift in reverence for his visitor, lying on his back, one knee cocked up to dig into thin quilts, the other barely brushing the ground, kicking idly at the hem of hanging sheets. One arm lay bent back, hand curved under the base of his skull in a relaxed posture as he sneered up at the small feathered fairy dangling piteously by her wings from his other hand, held high over his head as he swung her back and forth with the interest of an artist in a math class.

"I suppose I have you to thank for my little gift."

The Nightmare King shifted just enough to light the side of his face with the meagre daylight, no weak thing such as that enough to cause harm. Jamie did not look from his newest plaything, admiring the soft hiccups of squeaks the little beast could barely contain, her shrill shrieks of pain as he dangled her by her misshapen wings all dried up, "No need. Seeing the look on the frosty upstart's face when I kicked him into the shadows was all the thanks I'd ask for."

"How did you come across that?" Pitch did not give away his curiosity with his face, expressive as it was, nor did his tone brook interest but Jamie turned to look at him anyway, shrewd and calculating, debating whether the information was valuable. He saw nothing in the Shadowmancer's eyes to suggest so, even as he stared long and hard at the last free subservient to the Tooth Queen.

"She was tagging along with Sleeping Beauty." The boy scoffed as he sat up, drawing the fairy to his eye-level, "Not sure what to do with her yet. She's not fighting back anymore and that's just boring." Dark eyes glanced disdainfully at the closed closet door, "Even the rat still has the nerve to mouth off."

"And how is your guest?" A hint of a cruel smile laced the words as Pitch followed the human's gaze, "Suffering, I hope?"

"Check if you want. Misery's your thing, I get it. Have fun." Jamie waved a hand, non-committal, completely missing the way the gold of Pitch's eyes shifted to shot-through silver in outrage and shook the Tooth Fairy in his fingers, admiring the way her body hung limp as she stared at him with wide jewel-coloured eyes, "What to do with you, little pest. I could pull your wings off and throw you out in the cold. You're a durable thing though, not sure that would do it. Maybe I should take you to the lake and introduce you to my previous pets..." 

Pitch frowned at the audacity of the Last Light, though it had been some time since he had been deserving of the title. When he had fed the boy his nightmares, streamed them one after the other, a blend of horror so potent there was no time to adapt, no time to numb to the thrill of fear growing ever stronger inside his pathetic hopeful heart, he had truly wished to break the boy. That a human dared stand against him, that this one barrier between victory and defeat should be so very disgustingly weak was contemptible. 

He had pushed every ounce of concentration he had into him, watched the Guardian of Hope fret and pat at his unconscious body to rouse him as he twitched and screamed and wailed, sent his best and strongest at the feeble mind of the hollow shell when the screaming had ceased and watched with relish as the fearlings crept in to devour the rest.

He hadn't expected them to possess the boy, to consume him so wholly that his soul had merged with the dark, pulling dark dreams forth from his mind that tempted him to hurt what he could and feel no guilt in it. He had only been released as an experiment, to see the ways in which he had changed, to test-run this new form of capture. The Last Light on the Globe had been extinguished and the way Jamie had grown in his years of freedom were a testament to why. The Bennett's mother had been browbeaten to her son's every whim, too frightened to even question his cruelty anymore. She hid from it with the careless neglect of an adult convincing herself that the problem would solve itself. The younger sibling, little blonde thing that had the potential to believe cowered in her brother's presence, terrified and alone. She had no friends. She did not dare and no one dared approach the little sister of Jamie Bennett.

In almost a solid decade of control, the boy had been rude, callous and wild but it never took much to put him back in his place. Powerful as he was with his command of the shadows, he was still just a little fish, an apprentice that was nowhere near the skill-level required to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Nightmare King. That was why it enraged him so to be ignored by the impertinent human brat. That was why he so often had to reprimand him as if he were a child of his own.

"I could find you a nice hungry alley-cat to share dinner with..." Jamie cooed almost lovingly at the fairy hanging from his fingers, her little face pale and pleading enough to inspire a wide grin of malice, "Or I could just fling you into the shadows and let them pull you apart. Would you like that? Might even get to see your frosty little slut of a friend again. Bet he loves the shadows. Bet he rides them like a seasoned pro-"

Baby Tooth let out a strident shriek as she swung through the air, Jamie's arm flying wide in surprise as he was snatched from his recline by whip-ropes of darkness, tendrils wrapping thick around his throat as he was suspended, glaring murder and clawing at his bindings before his patron. His grip loosened, the small fairy braced for impact as she flew unsupported across the bedroom to land harshly on the wooden boarding of the floor. Her little body rolled a short ways, curled up in an attempt to protect herself, some of her beautiful if ragged plumage rubbing raw against the solid surface as she skidded to a painful stop with a quiet chirp.

Jamie hissed in warning as the shadows tightened painfully around his neck, "I was waiting for you to draw the Drama Queen card. Why are you so uppity? You have what you want!"

Pitch regarded him with the detached attention one might give a flying crisp packet in the street, "Jack is not ready."

"What's that got to do with me? You wanted him-" Jamie voice reeled out to a thin whispery sound as the shadows constricted, "He's yours. Make him ready."

"You do not command me." Pitch snarled, the shadows snapping back enough to slam the boy to the wall before they released and Jamie collapsed onto the bed, pushing up onto his knees, eyes alight with resentment as the Shadowmancer approached, "When he is mine, I could send him after you. I could let him toy with you as you toy with those scrawny little beasts your blood kin tote home day after day. I could give him the power to strip your strength from your useless human body and let him tear you to pieces for vermin to feast on."

Jamie stiffened, face a blank mask devoid of feeling as he held himself, barely managing a solid half-minute before his shoulders slumped, dark eyes staring up at the towering shadow of the Boogeyman in resignation, every word forced out through gritted teeth just shy of the apology it was intended to be, "I am sorry. I spoke out of turn. I was disrespectful."

"Better." Pitch bit out, "But it does not change a thing. You mock your superiors and you'll be lucky if when I have my way, he does not remember your indiscretions." Jamie held back his scowl as Pitch allowed himself a fond smile, head tilted back as his eyes closed as if in remembrance, "He resists. There isn't the strength in you to overpower him even without my influence corrupting his core. You could only best him because he will not embrace the changes I urge, but when he does, and he will, he will be my most glorious triumph."

Fingers knotted in the bed quilts, the tumultuous stir of anger and jealousy rearing up in the human as he observed the raw longing on the dark spirits face. How could Jack Frost, winter miscreant and general pain-in-the-ass deserve such veneration from one who had subdued him countless times? Surely he posed no threat? He'd been out of the mix of things for too long now to be able to stop any plan they might hatch and was weak as a day-old kitten. The Guardians were no longer free to help, one sitting not feet away in a cage just strong enough to contain him.

That had been his own idea. No belief would ever light the Globe again, Bunny's cage just a shade stronger than the Guardians own magic at his current level. So close to freedom and yet so far. Nine years would turn eons until children the world over lost the legend of the Easter Bunny to time and memory.

They would all be lost, and Pitch would claim children's fear for centuries to come with no hindrance. So why Jack? Why was he so integral? The Last Chosen Guardian was a trophy yes, but one to be caged, not coddled. Jamie schooled his features, adopting a nondescript air as he lifted his gaze to watch his 'Master' contemplate. Mayhap he should do some contemplating of his own.

III 

The door was only open a crack the width of four of her small fingers, but apple green eyes could see through it easily enough. Sophie bit at her lip to keep herself from breathing too loudly as she peered into the room, knees braced evenly against the floorboards to keep herself balanced. This was not a conversation she wanted to interrupt.

She could not bring herself to feel sorry for her brother, knowing well all of the horrors he had nurtured in the past years, even as the Lurker grew angry, even as dark strings of power flung Jamie around like a flag in a violent gale, she kept her silence and did not move.

It was only when another sound caught her attention that she drew her eyes from the uncanny duo, stare shifting from the backlit figures over the wooden floor until her eyes came to rest on the small struggling form of a little bird trying to crawl across the boards. It looked injured, no doubt it would be, staying in Jamie's room. Sophie had rescued many an animal from the tortures that occurred behind this closed door, often stealing into the forbidden sanctum to swipe out a crying cat or fox or mouse that had been subjected to hours of unmerciful pain. She had long tried to rescue the rabbit that hid, hunched and lonely in the dark at the back of Jamie's closet, green eyes and bristled silver fur so very familiar to her and yet she could not recall why. Jamie was almost terrifyingly alert regarding this particular animal. He never let it out. Never seemed to feed it. He never drowned it like he had the others, and Sophie could not fathom what it was about the animal that meant it had to be kept. 

The Lurker asked about it often, referring to it by odd sounding names. Bunnymund. Guardian. Pooka. Sophie wasn't sure what it meant but she had never once managed to open the cage, resigned to passing bits of carrot peel through the bars in what few seconds she'd dare spend in the room she was usually too frightened to stay in. There was no way she could take the cage. Jamie would come after her and it was more trouble than it was worth, especially while the rabbit was mostly safe.

The little bird gave a muffled chirp as it collapsed onto its stomach, beaked nose scratching over the floor before it pushed up to try again, and Sophie moved a little closer, shuffling quietly forward to press her shoulder to the doorframe. It would have to be quick. Silent. She slipped a hand between the door and the frame, pressing her inner arm to the wooden panelling to keep from knocking anything and stretched forward. Just a little bit more...

Baby Tooth tried to keep going, tried to force herself up but her legs hurt from her abrupt landing and her arms were sore from trying to pull herself across the floor. Her eyes were blurred from tears as she tried to collect herself but there was so much hurt, and Jack was gone, and Pitch was here and where was Mother? Where was the Queen? The Guardian of Hope was still here, Mother can't be gone. She dug her tiny fingers into the wood and hauled herself up. Have to keep going. Have to help Jack.

Sophie forced her shoulder into the doorframe just hard enough for it to hurt but it was enough, her hand circling behind the little bird in a protective cup and she scooped it up as gently as she could, the brush of soft feathers prompting her to giggle but she swallowed it back. Now was not the time for that. The bird gave a frightened squeak that was thankfully too low to draw attention and Sophie did not risk hushing it quiet.

Drawing her hand slowly towards her knees, she angled her body ever so slightly, slipping her other hand around the fragile creature and lifted it, mindful of the edge of the door. Those hinges could be awfully loud when they wanted to be. 

As she drew back into the clear, Sophie turned ever so slowly, settling down onto the boards of the hallway floor, her back pressed to the wall and eased herself into a relaxed position, letting out her caught breath between her lips in a steady stream of low sound. How she loathed the lack of carpet in her house of recent. As a child it had never been a problem, but now, at nearly twelve years of age, when sneaking around had never been a more useful skill, she was burdened with the loudest floors in the history of home design. When nothing happened after a few seconds of stillness, she breathed a sigh of relief. Catching the eye of the Lurker would bring nothing but bad luck.

Carefully unclasping the cradle of her fingers, Sophie stared down in awe at what she had thought to be a bird. Bright mismatched eyes gleamed up at her like precious stones, the long point of an adorable beak nose and a scattering of sweet little beauty marks along the right cheekbone made the little face look otherworldly and beautiful. A pallet of blues and greens lit up the downy plumage like glistening Caribbean waters and little hints of pink and gold made the small creature shimmer in the palm of her hand.

"Oh..." Sophie hesitated moments before her fingers could touch the awkward twist of frail wings curved out from the tiny bird's back, gossamer reminiscent of the rainbow pattern on a soap bubble bent in an uncomfortable manner and she instead brushed gentle fingers over the curling crest of the little one's head, "You are so very pretty..."

Baby Tooth preened a little under the praise, her small heart calming from the rampant hammer of fear to a less frantic beat. She could feel it in the heat of comforting hands, see it in the childish smile. This human was not like the other one. She soothed her own hands over the girls palm in turn, reciprocating the calming gesture in thanks for her rescue and Sophie smiled a white smile bright enough to perk the little one's interest.

"Are you a fairy?" The human asked, lifting the feathered creature up to her face in a hushed whisper and Baby Tooth nodded, little hands clasped to her chest as she beamed brightly at the girl-child, hardly daring make a sound so close to the mean one's room.

"My name is Sophie. What's yours?"

Baby Tooth lifted her hands to pat over her own mouth, smiling widely to display her own pride and joy, small rows of straight perfectly clean teeth hidden behind the soft and sharp of her beak-mouth. Sophie watched her carefully, leaning in a little closer and her head tilted almost habitually as she peered at the small fairy, very obviously confused.

"Smile? Teeth?" Green eyes were puzzled and it didn't matter how much Baby Tooth rocked her arms in the parody of cradling a child or gestured other symbolisms of her name, Sophie couldn't make out exactly what she was trying to say, "Are you a Tooth Fairy?"

Baby Tooth cheeped excitedly, both of her hands immediately clamping over her mouth as she turned to stare at the closest bedroom door, Sophie freezing in turn as the creak of a mattress being relieved of its burden turned her blood to ice. Socked footfalls echoed in her ears like the beats of a bass drum and the preteen scrambled to her feet as the door swung wide behind her, racing down the hall and flinging her small body like a rocket down the stairs. She was out of the unlocked front door before she could hear him shout her name. 

Baby Tooth clung to the girl's fingers as she ran, jostled very little despite the human's speed, secure in the gentle grip and she stared up in concern at the blatant fright on the young rounded face. She knew that fear. This child believed in the Boogeyman and how could she not, with a human alike her in that monster's confidence.

Sophie only looked back once as she ran, as if compelled by her own nature to ensure she wasn't just imagining the eyes on her back. She wasn't. Her eyes caught on a tall, black figure in the square of Jamie's bedroom window, near shapeless in the black but for two slits of fervent gold that ran her through like cold needles. Even from this distance, terror rocked her to her knees as his gaze pierced her through and though it was one of the most difficult things she had ever had to do, Sophie climbed to her feet, shaking like she would rattle apart, and kept running.

III

Jamie returned to the bedroom, swiping up dirty trainers from the floor before he dropped heavily onto the bed, dragging them onto his feet with single-minded focus, "I'll find her. She's interfered for the last time."

"She took your newest captive." Pitch slanted his eyes from the transparent glass pane of the window to level a stare at the boy on the bed, "Can you not fathom what that means?"

Jamie stopped, hand half reaching towards his usual black woollen hat but he chose to forgo it in order to give the Shadowmancer his undivided attention. He'd already pissed him off once this visit. Likely a second would not be permitted without severe repercussion, "Go on then. Enlighten me."

"To see a Tooth Fairy, one must believe in them." Pitch's smile was not kind, not forgiving and Jamie cursed as the darkness inside him writhed with his Master's displeasure.

"Fix it."

III

Cerise eyes glimmered in the dark, once wearied and half shut, now wide in surprise as a strength she hadn't known in over a handful of years lanced through her veins. It rang like a harmonious chord inside of her head, woke unworked muscles and set a shine in feathers long lain unglossed from lack of care.

Belief. It was like a sparkle of pure light after near a decade of darkness and it raced through her centre like liquid gold, imbuing her with a sense of hope such as she had not felt since the Great Four crumbled beneath the iron fist of the Nightmare King.

She had slept some of those last years, too lethargic to do much more. Immortality had its downsides in such that you could survive on the cusp of an existence that could kill anything less hardy in a moment. Sustenance was a luxury not a necessity. Sleep was an escape, not a relief. Lying weak as a newborn babe in a cage with nothing for company but the whispers of fear and no way out was barely an existence as it was.

Tooth rolled, her smaller-than-usual body no less sore, no less tired and weak despite the flare of energy that warmed her heart. It was not definitive, this new belief. It could only be one at best and frail, a small inkling of what light could be compared to the resilient shine of the Globe in the Guardians Hay day. One believer. She could take that, even if it hurt not to be able to find and nurture that seed of hope, even if she had no means to keep that little light flickering, she was glad it was there.

Tooth struggled up, gathering her legs beneath her but they didn't hold her miniscule weight. They had been weak before, so used to the strength of her wings and her contentment in the surety of her believers that she had never considered the consequences of having to run, or even walk anywhere. Now, she was paying for that oversight.

Everything looked so big in this strange form, her diminished powers sapping all of her abilities like some kind of never-sated leech and she thought of Bunny, a startling deliberation after such a long while. His devastated springtime eyes as he discovered himself for the first time, shrunk down to the size of a garden rabbit, hopping about without the authority to carve tunnels and summon the Earth. Those eyes were still a brand in her thoughts, upsetting in his helplessness. She could appreciate that now, being just over double the size of one of her own fairies.

Giving up entirely on the support of her legs, she reached up with small hands, half wrapping unusually small fingers around the worn cage bars using what little might she had to pull herself up. It was not ideal, but it gave her the view she wanted, just barely.

There, alight on the Hollow Globe, a small glow wavered, wan and merely a shade of the blinding belief of years past, but still a beautiful sight.

Calculating her maps, the Tooth Queen narrowed the scale, mentally discarding towns and cities until she was certain she was accurate, pinpointing the exact measurement of the Globe and the exact point of location of the light, struck dumb in shock of the conclusion. Pennsylvania? Surely not Burgess.

Jamie was lost and belief in the last conquered town would be squashed like a bug beneath the Nightmare hordes. Surely impossible.

Her arms nearly gave out on her and she half-slumped against them, determined to double-check when a sudden spark of white caught her eye, a brief flash of light from the cage swinging a short way beneath her own. Swinging?

Her lips were dry and chapped and it hurt to swallow, so long since she last had need of her voice. It took a few minutes to work her jaw into a comfortably relaxed state, enough to even mouth the words she wished to speak before she tried to speak them. Nothing came out.

'Who's there?' She wanted to ask, wanted to comfort the trapped entity below her be it child or spirit. She didn't hold much hope in it. If it was a child, they would not see her, would not hear her words, but if it was a spirit? None had heard her before but she had to try.

Clenching her fingers around the cage bars, she submerged her heart in the paltry glow of that one little believer and took the deep breath needed to try again.


	10. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to escape  
> The clutches of a name.  
> No this is not a game.  
> It's just a new beginning.  
> I don't believe in fate  
> but the bottom line, it's time to pay  
> You know you've got it coming...
> 
> 30 Seconds to Mars - 'Escape'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, shit's going down in real life. Things have gotten way worse. Karma's a bitch. I'm sorry for my absence but I did make this chapter the longest one yet in apology. Please don't hurt me. Kthnx!

Jack funnelled what little energy he could summon into his fingers, clenched like vices around the unyielding bars that circled him and despite the strength he put behind it, it was not enough to break the cage. This was the fourth time now and every time he felt recovered enough from the last attempt to try again, he could feel the strain of the frost inside him trying to tear its way free. It made his lungs ache and his eyes roll back in his head as the pressure only increased with every charge he tried to press forcibly through his skin and though the effect was there, crackling like fresh bursts of white lightning in the unventilated air, it never surfaced on a scale enough to cause damage to anything other than himself. Tiny ferns wound like lacework over the bars of the cage but they were minor things akin to a nip at the nose, nowhere near the required level to brittle metal.

Jack pried his hands from the bars, wincing as his skin seemed to cling to the cold as a human's would were you to pour water between ice and bare flesh. His temperature was nearing the normal degree now that Pitch had left him well enough alone, probably to let him sulk about his fate, but it was something he was more accustomed to and suddenly grateful for. The frost still melted in his hands, welding them to cold metal like he were a part of the cage itself, the slow decline of his strength more apparent with every hour that passed and that alone was cause for concern but in the wake of the retreating heat, it didn't bother him half as much as it should. No doubt the sand inside had some part to play in that, it being the reason he could barely summon at all.

"I've been neutered." Jack rolled back on his heels dejectedly, hitting the bottom of the cage on his ass just hard enough to make the stupid thing swing as he stretched his legs out in from of him. No staff, effectively cut off from his natural magic and locked up like a pet budgie. Just beautiful. He dragged curled fingers through his mussed hair, ruffling it up worse than usual, the crisp of ice crystals just starting to settle in it again now that he was cold enough for it. He hadn't felt comfortable with the softness, the damp, the unusual feeling of water tracing trails over his skin. He couldn't remember a time when every liquid he touched hadn't immediately iced over and so to be so wholly defenceless as he was both manipulated and left to the mercy of an unnatural heat was a fear he hadn't contemplated before. Add to that the whole buried trauma of a death by drowning and Jack was pretty sure water was the last thing he'd like to fall prey to.

Leaning back heavily against the uneven ridges of his cage, Jack slumped his shoulders down, hunching into a half ball as he stretched out a single leg to kick at the bars with a growl, "Locked up like some mangy stray. Pitch, you smarmy piece of..."

The rattle of the bars echoed in the caverns like the slamming of a cast iron door or the hard steel of a sword striking solid rock, low and thunderous in the dark, almost loud enough to mask the rasping whisper of a voice riding the soured air. Jack froze, foot still held aloft and tilted his head back against the bars, certain he had imagined it. The voice had sounded so soft, wearied as though it had seen hard times and been pulled through them, unable to rest. He knew that feeling, knew it well in his 300 years of wandering and he recognised the desperation in the voice, a need to be heard and it had said his name. How did it know his name?

The winter sprite shuffled as quietly as he could manage, drawing his knees beneath him and he muttered a curse as the chain on his cage swung with a grinding whine, rusted and bitter. He held still, but no sound came, no whisper or urgent plea. Had it been real? Jack pressed his head to the bars, face bowed as he peered through the dark, shoulders tense, waiting. Surely he couldn't be cracking up already?

"Jack..."

The cryomancer startled, eyes lifting as he sought out the owner of the voice through the scant light. It had definitely come from above, soft and wavering like a trembling ripple in a riptide, ready for any sound to swallow it whole and steal it away. He stared upward, hard enough that he could feel his eyes water at the pull of his focus but he could make out the circular outline of another cage, hung a few feet higher than his own. He had noticed other cages before, seen them many years ago the first time he had ever infiltrated the Lair but he hadn't given a second thought to any other than himself being held in them. Pitch had never really been one for mercy unless it hurt more than the kill so perhaps it should have occurred to him.

Jack felt a bit like an idiot as he crouched a little further down to see a little further up, squinting like he had stared into the face of the Sun and bleached the world of colour, but... he did see colour. A bright dot of emerald plumage distorted through the mesh latticed over the bars of that particular cage and the tiny speck of pale pink hands wrapped tight around the bars of the rounded monstrosity. He couldn't see much but he was elated none the less, "Babytooth!"

"No, Jack." 

The voice was so very soft and quite familiar. Babytooth had never spoken aloud in human tongue aside from her trills and her wordless singing but no other had looked quite so much like the little fairy that he had ever seen before, or even met before. Jack shifted a little, hoping for a clearer view but all he could see was a little hummingbird creature clinging to the cage bars as if her life depended on it, "Babytooth?"

"No, Jack." The small voice trembled as if weak, "Remember."

"Remember what?" Jack pulled himself up just far enough to pull his feet beneath him, crouching low as he peered up into the dark but the fairy did not speak again, the silence stretching out until he was uncomfortable with the length of it, "What do I need to remember?" 

Everything was quiet and still, so muted he would wager his staff that if he had a pin to drop, despite the height of the cages, he would still hear it hit the shells of the tarnished tooth boxes below, even through the din of stirred memories woken from their decade of rest. 

Memories.

Jack perked as a thought hit him, almost livid at himself for not thinking of it sooner. The tooth boxes. If not a Babytooth, who else could it be? Who else had that dazzling plumage, that softened motherly voice? And who else in a world of non-believers knew the name of Jack Frost? 

Jack cursed the cages, his own a simple circle of bars, easy enough to see through in the dark but the other? The other cage was one that had held the Tooth Fairies before, wiring crosshatched over every square inch and it was hard to see through but as he moved, he caught sight of half a small heart-shaped face through the crossed wires and the half-shut glimmer of dull cerise eyes as they stared down at him, pleading and imploring, both, "Tooth?"

"There's still time..." 

"Time for what?" Jack dug his fingers into the bars with renewed vigour, the relief in her voice enough to confirm his assumption. Tooth was alive, and if she was here and Bunny was still kicking, that meant there was hope for North. The winter sprite winced as his blunt nails bit into the metal harder than his frost despite the strength he levied behind it, "Tooth? Are you alright?"

"I can't-" 

A moment of silence and Jack pressed up to the bars again, "Tooth?"

There was nothing now, no splash of colour against the black of the Lair and no butter soft voice to sooth his frazzled nerves. Jack threw his gaze around his prison, anxious to help her, analytical and wild in his worry. Nothing was apparent that he could use and he scoured the bars with his eyes until it hurt to stare so hard at them. A chip, a crack, anything weakened and waiting for leverage but there was nothing and he found it difficult to suppress his growl of frustration. 

He ran his hands up over the inside of the cage top, strained to reach the hanging chain but it was too far out of reach and pressed his fingers into the seams around the floor of the cage, running calloused finger pads over the aged rust and ignoring the nicks and cuts that slipped over his skin like painful kisses. When at last he found something useful, he was so glad of it he didn't even bother to curse as the jagged metal cut into his thumb in a slice deep enough to bleed. A small gap, about the length of one of Bunnymund's Googie's but not as wide was mostly concealed in the bottom grate of the cage, wear and tear of centuries hidden well in the dark.

Jack pounced on it with urgency, digging his sore fingers into it like icy claws as he clenched his eyes shut and drew his focus around himself like a blanket. There was only so many times he could do this before his power failed completely, only so many attempts he could make before Pitch returned and he was determined to make the most use of the time as he could.

Desperation was a prevailing influence and he wound it around his mind like a silk thread, tying knots in his nerves as he searched deep for the well of strength he knew was buried deep, concealed and constricted, bound like some untameable beast below his skin, "Come on. Come on, come on!" His brow furrowed as he clawed inside himself, tearing at any wall or force in his path. He needed it. He needed it to help Tooth. Just a little, just enough to crack the metal, just enough to bend the unbreakable and he would do anything for it. Anything.

A chill swept through unlike any he could recall and he snatched at it like a hungry child at the first sight of bread crust, channelling the bite of it down through his veins to pulse from his fingertips. It was so very different from what he was used to, so intangible and yet he grabbed at it with both hands and hauled it through his own body as if he were a conduit, and it, a bolt of pure lightning, the rush of cold so refreshing and new that he was both exhilarated and overwhelmed by it.

It was pure adrenaline and ice-caps, the shift of glaciers in frozen mountains and Jack could swear even his teeth burned from the cold of it. The audible sound of cracking ice was like music to his ears and he peeked open one eye, far too curious as to what well of power he had unleashed, wanting to witness what had lain dormant inside him long enough to him to learn how to master and expel it. 

What he saw made him withdraw almost violently.

Something glittered like ice in the dark but the pure white sheen of it, the bright lustre of freshly frozen waters were absent. Jack reached forward, tentatively questing this strange phenomenon with hesitant fingers and he could feel the ridges and the resonating cold, trademarks of his own element but that it looked so dark, enough to be practically invisible in the gloom of the Lair? It was almost sinister, wreathed through with black and there was not nearly enough light to study it, to see why. Jack shook himself free of his stupor with reluctance. Something was obviously wrong. He had not been able to draw such energy from inside himself since before the Guardians defeat and to see it so twisted shook something at his core, alarm bells he'd rather not look at too closely.

Jack rose to his feet, unable to avert his eyes from the frozen darkness as he lifted his leg with muscles tensed in preparation, and slammed the ball of his foot down on the thick spread of the ice, the cage swinging with the force of his kick. He had to brace himself quickly against the bars before he slipped but managed with little difficulty, tightening his grip enough to lift himself and threw his inconsiderable bodyweight down on the iced-over cage flaw, slamming both feet down firmly. The metal groaned under the onslaught and Jack increased in speed, allowing it no quarter as he stomped out every frustration that had festered inside of him the past few days, using the bars of the cage to jump high and land hard.

It was only after a particularly solid landing that the weakened joint finally gave and with a startled cry, Jack found himself unsupported, the rusted metal beneath his feet screaming as the entire bottom of the cage collapsed in on itself. The cryomancer felt his heart pound frantically in his chest as he clung to the bars, dangling by the support of his own hands and fighting back the urge to cringe as the hooked metal disk finally struck its first obstacle mid-fall, clattering noisily over the piles of children's tooth boxes below.

A slow nervous laugh was his first reaction as he leaned his head back far enough to scour the ground and locate it, still in one piece but bent at a strange angle, and Jack couldn't help but feel quite proud of his own reflexes as he hooked his fingers into the base ring that was all that was left of the bottom of his prison cell, "Well, that was close."

He knew he must have looked funny, bony and bright swinging like a monkey on a branch from a bottomless prison but there was no one to look, and no one to laugh and upon reflection of his environment, he was quite glad of the fact. The brief light of fun that had raced through his core and pressed energy back into his heart did not take long to dull, his centre as tired as the rest of him so it was a struggle in itself to kick his legs, leveraging himself high enough to get a firm grip on the next rung, heaving himself up to scale the outside of the cage as a squirrel would climb a tree, shifting just enough to avoid the wicked curves of jagged metal protruding from the roof of it in a frightening manner. Best not fall on those. From there, it was an easy task to conquer the height of the cage, his hands all too relieved to curl around the chain that held it high, following it up until he could reach out and latch onto the prison that held the diminished Tooth Fairy.

"Tooth?" Jack peered into the cage, shocking himself more than he'd thought he would at the sight of her. Glorious feathers were ratted and grim, thin as though she had plucked in anxiety and though the colour of them was still exuberant in the darkness, they lacked the gloss of happier times. Tooth was only slightly larger than her own little fairies, the only distinctions lying in the bangles of golden feathers at her wrists and ankles and the beautiful shade of her tired yet regal eyes. The most apparent difference though, lay in the faded white of a long scar, streaking down the side of her left cheek. It was clean and knitted and barely there but Jack could still see it and it set an anger in his heart that he couldn't properly voice. Had Pitch done that?

She looked up at him from where she lay, curled in her overlong tail feathers like a makeshift nest as she shuddered, her plumage not enough to keep her warm, and yet she smiled as though everything was alright, a beaming curve of white that practically radiated relief, "Jack!"

And that was when he saw the other occupant of the cell.

A wooden nesting doll was set in the back of the cage, painted in varnished block colours of faded red and white, the figure painstakingly detailed onto the smooth rounded surface an image he had held in his very own hands just short of ten years ago in an icy workshop littered with wonder and fresh ideas and bathed in the scent of hot, baked cookies. The design had changed since he had last seen it.

Tooth followed his gaze, her small pale face losing its newly found smile but she kept silent and Jack didn't care to ask as he looked upon the toy. Instead of the fearless cut of a stout figure wielding powerful blades, the caricature seemed to wilt, his expression, once fierce and resolute, now unmistakably sad, large blue eyes shut and usually jolly face downcast.

"What's that doing here?" Jack ventured to ask, dreading the answer before he'd finished the question, "What? Is Pitch stealing toys now?"

"It's not just a toy, Jack." Tooth looked like she was in physical pain as she fixed her eyes upon the nesting doll, more drawn and miserable than Jack had ever seen her, and everything about her seemed less than he could remember, "We are reverted to our weakest forms without the power of the children's belief to sustain us."

"That's... North?" The winter sprite stared at the doll he had once held in horror, "How-"

"Pitch trapped him inside the doll when he became too weak to fight." The bottom of the cage rattled ever so slightly as Tooth struggled to her knees, using the bars as support to pull herself up once again and Jack did not look too closely at her harrowed form for fear he wouldn't be able to take it. Instead he followed her pointed finger as she pushed her arm through the small mesh to guide his sight, "When Pitch finally caught up with me, he was less than gentle."

Tooth's small, cold fingers traced over her marked face almost in absent thought from the corner of his eyes and Jack swallowed back the need to say something about it, silently willing her on, "I fought him but I didn't have the strength and when he brought me back to the Lair, North was so very angry..."

The cryomancer squinted in the dark, trying to see what it was the Tooth Queen was pointing to but it was hard, so very high up and he half-tuned in to her as he searched, hoping for clues, "Pitch had not thought to use the cages at that point and North all too easily broke the grip of the shadows in his rage when he attacked."

Jack almost gave a cry of triumph, remembering well enough not to, when he finally saw what the fairy's dainty finger was aimed for, a thick red fabric, fur trimmed and in poor condition after so long left untended lay half draped over one side of a mound of tooth boxes to their far right, a rusted sabre dropped atop it as though it had been discarded in battle, a worrying amount of darkened staining along its tarnished blade. 

"Pitch bested him easily and he was able to trap him inside the doll when he reverted."

Jack looked back to the doll with a shrewd expression, the sceptical part of his mind positively reeling at the thought that Pitch could force someone as strong and physically abundant as North into so small a chamber and he bit at the inside of his own cheek in thought, "Can we get him out?"

"No." The first flutter of Tooth's wings that he had seen since he had found her was a flutter of fear, her crown feathers fluffing ever so slightly as she shook her head at him, "North's weakest form is made of porcelain, remnants of a spell woven long ago by Pitch himself. If you force the doll, it might damage him." Cerise eyes were saddened as Tooth slumped back to the floor of the cage, "I've tried but I don't have the strength."

"Alright, fine." Jack traced his fingers over the mesh of the cage with a flippant shrug, already wondering how best to implement the rather worrying force inside of him to crack the cage open without causing harm to its occupants, "For now, I'll settle for getting you both out of here." 

"No, Jack, you mustn't..." Bubble coloured wings sprang to life again, only managing a weak quiver before they stilled, wilting at the fairy's back like exhausted flags with no wind to carry them, Tooth's sweet face tense with apprehension, "You need to get out of here."

"I'm not leaving you here." Jack's tone brooked no argument, as fiercely stubborn as he could manage, his fingers hooking into the cage mesh with a resolve so strong it looked to break Tooth's heart to refuse him.

"We're no good to you like this. Belief is the only thing we have. If you can give one child hope, then that is hope for all of us." One small hand reached up but Tooth did not have the energy to move forwards and Jack could not fit his fingers far enough through the cage to comfort her, "We would only slow you down."

"I can't do this on my own." The frost spirit bowed his head against the cage, a gust of his own breath feeling oddly warm on the back of his hand as he squeezed his eyes shut, determined to force the despair back down into his gut where it belonged but it circled high in his throat anyway, taunting and cruel, "I can't fix this if they can't see me..."

"I believe in you, Jack"

The winter sprite looked up, bathed in the vibrant warmth of the sweetest smile he had ever seen, and for a second, he could almost see the full glory of Toothiana, the Warrior Queen, shoulders set, eyes full of fire and wings a flurry of mad razors at her back as she threw down all threat at her feet as though it were dirt and nothing more, no scar able to lessen her beauty, no darkness able to blacken her light, "I believe you can do this."

And it was all there in her eyes, the belief he so yearned for in children blazing bright from her indomitable gaze.

"Then that's all I need." Jack felt his lips twitch in a hesitant smile of his own, unable to hold it back in the wake of Tooth's own unguarded expression, pleasantly surprised at her girlish giggle and the way her eyes lit up as he widened his grin for her benefit.

"You still have the most perfect teeth." And she was so much like herself then that Jack felt the heavy clenching in his own chest lift for the few seconds it took to take a free unbothered breath, the first he had managed since he had awoken in Antarctica as he watched the small Queen coo over his smile as she had the first time they had met.

"I'll let you check them later." With a flirty wink, more assured than he felt to assuage the still palpable unease written across her face, Jack pushed back from her cage, leaping in a manner more fearless than he thought he could manage, back onto the roof of his own now-destroyed prison, just catching himself before he could impale his left foot on one of the jagged protrusions that snarled up from the curve of rusted metal.

"I believe in you, Jack."

Though he couldn't see her as he glanced back, the warmth in her voice was enough to give him strength, and he slid down the outer bars of his cage, catching just enough of the slightly unstable high drafts in the cavern to ride halfway to the ground before he dropped unceremoniously into the unforgiving angles of the tooth boxes below, their sharp edges biting into the toughened skin of his bare feet. The landing was awkward and heavy and Jack let out a startled yelp as his right leg caved under pressure, sending him skidding down the slightly lopsided pile he had chosen to cushion his fall with a wince. The noise it made was loud and it echoed in the caverns in a way that urged him to move but Jack couldn't make himself shift. He paused, shoulders hunched up so tightly they ached from the tension as he waited for something, anything to happen.

Nothing did.

No stampede of hooves on stone came racing towards him, no fearlings slunk from the shadows to detain him and no lengthy shadow with piercing eyes snared him where he stood. Everything was strangely silent.

Deciding to take the boon for what it was, Jack carefully picked his way carefully down the remainder of the haphazard stack of ornate golden boxes, the beautiful filigree of each damaged in some way or discoloured from time spent in the humid underground. Sidestepping the still frozen remnants of the bottom of his cage, the winter sprite edged around the dunes of gold, using them as both shield and shelter from any potential attack. The Lair was alarmingly still, a disturbing quiet descended over the dark space as though his ears had been filled with water to block out any sound and Jack was afraid every movement he made advertised his escape as blatantly as a neon coloured billboard, yet nothing crawled from the black to snatch him back into the confined quarters of a barred hanging basket.

As he clambered easily around a short stack of teeth, certain this was the area he had seen North's tattered red coat in, a familiar bridge came into view above him and in his haste, Jack put his hand down too fast, the side of his palm alight with blistering heat, fire lancing up his arm in waves so effective he could have sworn his skin had melted from his bone. Jack threw himself away from the source of it with a pained shout he could not contain, tooth boxes digging into the barely padded ridges of his spine as he cradled his hand to his chest, half afraid to look at the certain wounding.

There was nothing there. Where he could have sworn the scalding fires had seared his skin into strips, there was nothing but pure unblemished skin, the residual heat easing to the steady throb of passing pain with no marks to show for it. Curious, Jack slid down the pile he had backpedalled up in his need to be away from whatever it was that had caused such pain, to search out the culprit for it.

It was a box, like any other in the pile save for the half of it that was blackened, one whole end of the octagonal shape stained as though it had been coated in soot. Jack could feel the heat emanating from it as he reached forward, a beacon of hot air wafting off of the gold to warm his fingers as they approached and he pulled the cuff of his hoodie over his fingers to protect them as he poked at the seemingly harmless tooth box.

It teetered for a moment where it lay before gravity took it and it rolled a short way down, Jack moving back a little to avoid touching it as it came to a stop and the winter sprite leaned in, face warming from the degrees it was throwing off, eyes wide in disbelief. 

The little enamel platelet on the undamaged end of the box beamed up at him with an enraptured smile, face still round with baby-fat not yet lost and chocolate eyes that bubbled over with childlike wonder. Jamie's face as he remembered it then was a breath of fresh air in a dark and dusty pit but the tender smile that stole across his lips at the sight was immediately chased by the sour taste of regret.

When Jack finally grasped the tooth box, lifting it carefully between his cloth covered hands to avoid the burn he swore he could still feel, he tilted it to analyse the melanised end of it and froze at the sight of the opposite enamel carving. Jamie's face graced it yes, but not the pure and wholesome believer, aged ten. No, this image was a representation of the distortion he was now, brows drawn into a fierce knit, a dark scowl twisting lips that only ever had a use for smiling. Soft eyes were sharp as smashed glass and painfully angry. Jack didn't even realise he was shaking until he looked up, noting the blur of the gold and black around him. 

"No, not now." He wiped furiously at his own eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, staining the cuffs with droplets of salt he would never let himself lease and it was only as he climbed to his feet that he realised he was not alone. An intelligible yell was his first reaction as bright brimstone eyes caught his attention, two Nightmares watching him intently from atop the pile of tooth boxes to his right and he didn't take stock of the rest, the swirl of shadows creeping down over the golden mounds from every which way surprising him enough that he leapt into movement without forethought of where to go. Sharp teeth snapped after him as hooves clattered noisily over the children's teeth and Jack stuffed Jamie's tooth box into the front pouch pocket of his hoodie to better scramble over the blockades in his path, narrowly missing the claws of hungry fearlings as they slashed at him in passing.

The alien feeling of something soft beneath his feet was only questioned when he became tangled in it and tripped, his knee striking the floor excruciatingly hard, the sharp agony ringing like a spike in his head and he kicked at the offending softness in an attempt to free himself. The mares surrounded him, snorting contemptuously as they pawed at the uneven ground, Jack staring up at them as they came to a halt around him, a circle of guard dogs awaiting their master's orders, staff-less and flightless and near enough unable to fend them off in his weakened state.

"I will admit, I did not expect an escape attempt so soon."

Speak of the Devil. Jack turned, keeping to his knees on the ground, the injured one hovering just above to keep the pain to a minimum and he clasped a cold hand around it to ease the stinging bone as his eyes searched shadows, hunting out the towering form of the Boogeyman.

"You're forever underestimating me," He spat in retort, jerking backwards reflexively (and almost tangling himself again in the soft fabric he had fallen into) as Pitch stepped into his line of sight, phasing through the horde of mares as if they were mere water vapour. The Shadowmancer looked distinctly unimpressed, as though something had bothered him before he had come prancing back to his secret hideout to find his newest capture frolicking about free as a bird, but Jack wasn't in the mood to step on eggshells just because his would-be capturer was a little miffed.

"I did think you would enjoy my hospitality a little longer," Pitch schooled his expression into a lazy smile, his eyes intent even as his posture seemed relaxed. Jack knew not to trust these little movements, designed to fool, to trick, to set one's heart at ease. The elder spirit was the picture of bored elegance even as Jack could hear the ticking of that clever mind scheming away and he shifted his gaze around the mares warily, fearlings twining around their hooves, just waiting for a signal.

"I don't like being grounded." He snarled out, already weary of the customary pleasantries, eyes flickering down to the fabric pooled around his legs. Dim red caught his eye and he tried not to stare too obviously. It must be North's coat, he thought, must be. What else could it be?

"I see you're already comfortable enough that you think you can get away with stealing from me..." Pitch advanced in slow steps, hands clasped behind his back as he cultivated his passive aggressive approach to near perfection and Jack had half a mind to snort at him and tell him how ridiculous he looked if it weren't for the slight tilt of the head the Nightmare King inclined towards the obvious lump in the pocket of his hoodie. Jack edged backwards, face pinched suspiciously as one hand covered the hidden tooth box protectively, the other intended to balance against the floor behind him, instead brushing against smooth glass. That shocked him for a brief second but he hid it well.

Glass? Down here? Tooth boxes, yes, and North's sword a few feet to his side, but glass? The revelation was a swift one.

"Didn't think you'd mind if I took a souvenir. It's not like your collection is deficient." He tried to keep his poker-face as angry as he could manage it but he could tell from the way Pitch arched one non-existent brow at him that he knew Jack was up to something. It wouldn't do for things to go awry now. Jack cast an overly visible longing look at the sword lying not far from himself and threw himself into a roll, curving his hand to fit around the glass he had found, hoping it was what he thought it was as Pitch launched himself forward with all the finesse of a rattlesnake, swiping up the bloodstained sabre left to rust on the ground, flinging it away with a derogative sound.

"Now, really Jack. I expect you'd be more well-behaved than-" Pitch cut himself off as he turned back to the frost sprite, believing he would be sufficiently cowed without the weapon within his grasp but it was quite the opposite, the mischievous grin across that boyish face one he had not seen in a long time strained as it was from fatigue and the pain of favouring his injured knee. Jack's hand was just large enough to support the weight of the snow-globe held to his hip, the other holding a crude handful of North's ruined red overcoat and Pitch cursed violently in his head as Jack thrust the glass to the ground, the glitter swirling inside the orb lighting up the enclosed space between the children's teeth and forcing the Nightmares back from the glowing warmth.

"Lake Burgess!" 

A large swirling vortex of mad dancing colour spread in a wide circle behind the younger spirit, the air shining with magic that lit Jack's snowy hair like a halo and Pitch's voice was an irate echo as he reached for the boy, eyes suddenly volcanic with rage. Jack didn't give the Boogeyman the time to approach, revelling for less than a second in the apoplectic fury written across the elder's face as he threw himself and the tattered remains of North's mantle through the gaping prismatic portal before it sealed itself shut, a blinding glimpse of rippling waters in fading sunlight flashing once before the Lair was dark once again. 

Pitch took a moment to properly seethe, his Nightmares edging back from him in fear of his temper, the fearlings not so cautious as they moved forward to slip around the base of his trailing robe and he glared at them disdainfully. The boy can't have gotten out on his own, he deliberated, so who could have helped?

Jack had been in no state to do much of anything when he had left him in his cage, practically on the brink of falling into a restless sleep to recuperate what little of his energy he could gather. North's coat alone would not have been enough incentive for him to break free and he obviously had no need for the sword if he chose the escape instead, so what had been the motivation behind such a risky attempt? Who or what had prompted him to this foolish bravery?

Pitch lifted his gaze at the sudden epiphany, eyes glowering holes into one of the occupied cages above him, not able to see the small figure of the Tooth Fairy as she cowered like a fragile bird in her cell, but knowing she could hear him regardless, "I will deal with you later."


	11. Prodigal Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A minute away, but worlds apart  
> Brothers in blood now divided in heart  
> By grief and sorrow one is striving to repay  
> Behind the palisade he lives his destined life  
> The music and the tears are piercing through the walls  
> Turn to Nightmares and there's no escape at all  
> Oh joyful childhood, you died so young
> 
> Kamelot - 'Prodigal Son Part 3 - The Journey'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna: Uh, yeah, here you go. I'mma go hide in a corner to try and protect myself from your outrage. You'll know what I mean by the end of the chapter.

Jack collapsed in an ungainly fashion onto his stomach in the grass, head spinning like it had spent an inordinate amount of time riding Waltzer's at some travelling carnival and as he took a moment to allow his vision to correct itself, he admired the green stems rising through his fingers like tufts of unruly hair. They felt soft, and he could only focus on them for a half second at a time before they blurred in front of his eyes, swirling into green lines that made him feel dizzy and sick. He pointedly ignored the press of a hard edge in his stomach, the tooth box in his front pocket doing its best to make its presence known. That he had managed to make his getaway with it still in his possession surprised him somewhat. That Pitch was, for all his newfound strength, not omnipotent and still capable of falling for half-baked tactics was a reassurance. Not unbeatable after all.

There is still time, Tooth had said.

The air was cool and crisp, a late evening streaking the sky with the hazy colours of sunset. It would be dark before long, and that would not be ideal considering the spirit that sought him governed in darkness. He had no doubt the Nightmare King would be gathering his hordes into patrols to find and subdue him and sticking around in a place he most often dwelled would be considered extremely unwise, not to mention the fact that he had quite clearly yelled his destination in Pitch's face before he careened into North's headache-inducing portal. 

Jack flinched as a loud warble broke the silence, the nesting birds in the thin scatter of trees around the lake making their presence known and the frost sprite bit his tongue to quiet his own nervous laughter. Great, now he was jumping at everything. With a disconcerted groan, he pushed himself awkwardly to his knees, minding the left one as much as he dared, threatening twinges riding through the muscle when he applied too much pressure and sat back on the heel of his right leg, casting a glance around himself to better acquaint himself with the surroundings he hadn't much seen in the last decade.

It still looked the same, at least and as he braced one hand to the ground to steady himself as the world tilted with every small movement, he had to fight not to clench his eyes shut against the vertigo. This wasn't normal. This helplessness was not something he had ever felt before and it was only getting worse. The air felt like steel around him, compressing and restrictive and Jack fought not to curl in on himself as he was rocked by minute convulsions. He felt as brittle as glass, one small crack at his core as he plummeted at great speed towards jagged rock and the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him was only held back by the thinnest of wheezing breaths, drawn in erratically through a clenched jaw.

The light-headedness was terrible and he wanted to blame it on North's portal (Perhaps the age of it had damaged the magic, perhaps he hadn't been clear enough, perhaps only North could open them safely) but he knew the poison in his system was the most logical instigator, as much as he tried to deny it. 

'The clock is ticking.' Pitch had said. It would only be so long before the sand inside him wore him down enough to take the reins. The thought itself was terrifying. What would happen? Would the sand trap him inside his own mind, helpless to watch as it wreaked havoc in control of his body and his magic? Would he be corrupted in some way that he would still be himself, just incapable of mercy or kindness? Or would the compulsions take him, leave him too witless to defy Pitch's order, like a marionette forced to do the Shadowmancer's bidding? None of the options sounded appealing.

Jack pressed hard to the ground, too weak to even summon the Wind to him, no staff to guide her to his location. He managed to climb to his feet just barely, tottering on numb legs like a newborn deer learning to walk as he waited for his vision to clear, colourful spots exploding in front of his eyes and shaking his head to clear them only made it worse. He turned his face skywards, inhaling a deep, calming breath to soothe his fear, only able to truly relax as few minutes past, the North Wind curled in tight around him, dancing wildly as she picked at his clothes and ruffled his hair, a motherly affection clear in the way she brushed rather than pushed at him.

It was clear she was worried, and after having lost him so long previously, he could understand her concern. She was not able to travel into Pitch's subterranean territory, which probably meant that when Jamie had cast him into the shadows, she had lost their established connection. Cool gusts circled his hand and he sighed as he waved her off, touched by her distress but not able to comfort her or himself, "Pitch took my staff."

The Winds rose noticeably enough to make the winter spirit smile, stumbling forward a step against the strength of her ire, "Calm down."

Clearly she was not a fan of the Boogeyman, he thought, raising his arms to let her wind around him like a weightless snake and she circled him joyously, pleased he was once again within her reach. As he extended his fingers towards the heavens in a stretch that eased the sore muscles in his back, his eyes caught sight of the clamour of dark clouds rolling in from the distance, like a swell of black tide surging towards the lake at speed.

"Oh, not good."

Between the clusters of trees, the scant shadows grew darker and began to move, slinking around roughened bark and raised roots with feline prowess, creeping as close to the tree-line as they dared before their protection came to block out the last of the dying sunset.

From the low green brush at the edge of a tight knit copse of thin trees a short walk from the lake bank, a sharp shriek broke the silence and Jack crouched defensively, prepared to fend off attack even as a small figure rolled out of the green branches it had been hiding in. It was a child, a small thing, no older than eleven or twelve, and as she looked up, eyes scouring the ground where Jack stood as though not seeing him (and he didn't doubt that for a second) he realised he was looking at the littler Bennett. 

Sophie scrambled forward on one hand and both knee's, her other fist cradled to her chest as though carrying something as her bright eyes stared back into the bushes with fear. The shadows swarmed towards the area like she was a snack to consume and she backpedalled a little faster, dragging herself into the fading light and staring in horror as the shadows writhed at the line of light that kept her from their greedy fingers.

Jack stepped forward, heart sinking a little as he realised he couldn't help her if she couldn't see him, careful to hobble on his painful leg but grateful that despite his low strength, he could already feel the damage healing, slow as it was. 

Sophie was a mess, her blonde hair in a wild spray as if she had been running, a matte tangle of straw shot through with gold in the waning light and her green eyes of a shade he had only ever seen in the warren, bursting with natural light. Her cheeks were rosy from exertion and she wore no coat over her thin cotton button down and leggings, a smudge of dirt blotched onto her leg from shin to knee that matched the mud caked on her trainers. He was just about to reach out to her when a chorus of musical tweets drew his attention, and there, sitting prettily in the palm of the child's gentle hand, Baby Tooth sang up at him, her wide mismatched eyes wet with happiness despite her lack of ability to fly to him.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief as he looked down at the small fairy, watching her wriggle in Sophie's grip to try and get closer to him, the human child not sure what had worked the little creature into such a state, "Calm down, little bird. They can't get us here, but we have to hide!"

It was only as Baby Tooth started to point frantically as Sophie climbed to her feet that the child took notice, following the fairy's lead and she looked up. Jack felt his heart catch in his throat, prepared for the emotional trauma that was a child passing through his very soul and ripping out his core without guile when she stepped into him mid-stride and fell backwards. Jack was stunned. He had felt her pressure against his hip where she struck, felt her small head bounce off his chest, saw her eyes widen and her mouth fall into a comical 'oh' as she stared, just able to catch herself before she fell to the ground again. 

She was looking at him. Baby Tooth's frantic chirping dulled to an echo like his ears had filled with water and his mouth was dry as a bone, and yet, Sophie was looking at him. Her eyes were focussed on him like she could see him and he felt her. If she could touch him then...

The Tooth Fairy let out an agitated squawk loud enough to break the reverie of both parties and Sophie bit at her lip, looking away as though suddenly realising how rude it was to stare, darting back fleeting glances as if to make sure she wasn't crazy. Jack was just trying his best to remain upright as Baby Tooth waved her hands around madly, pointing to Jack and gesturing to her heart, her crippled wings fluttering at her back in a much better state than he had last seen her but still not strong enough to lift her and leaning so far forward in Sophie's hands that it looked like she might topple from the girl's fingertips if she did not rein in her excitement.

"Baby Tooth..." Jack started in a placating manner and the little fairy perked at his use of her name, falling silent as he graced her with a soft tooth-laden smile, "I'm glad you're alright."

The little creature swooned in Sophie's hands and the blonde giggled at her, taking a tentative step towards Jack and looking up at him as she dared venture closer. Jack did his best to appear as non-threatening as possible, not sure of how to begin in a situation he never thought to imagine. Jamie had been lost to darkness, and he was certain that kind of poison came with frequent visits from Pitch. With Baby Tooth in Sophie's possession when she had been last seen in Jamie's, he could only imagine who she was hiding from and why.

"It's okay," He soothed her, raising his hands in a placating manner, hardly daring to breathe as she moved closer like a timid mouse, "It's okay, Sophie. I won't hurt you. My name is Jack Frost..."

"From the stories?" Her voice was still sweet, still a hint of wonder and light in so strange a distortion of the world he remembered. Jack reached out a hand in greeting, pleasantly surprised as she took it in her own without a hint of fear and shook it firmly as if they were completing a business transaction, and he cocked his head at her in approval, trying desperately to ignore the tilt of the ground beneath his feet that almost made him list sideways in his lethargy, "Yeah, that's me."

"Mother tells me stories at night about how you used to bring snow days and paint windows with frost. We haven't had snow in a long time. Did you know that?" Her voice hushed from a matter-of-fact tone to a conspiratorial whisper, "And Jamie and the Lurker mention you a lot in their secret conversations I'm not supposed to hear, but I do."

"The... Lurker?" Jack suppressed a laugh, surprised at the mischievous lilt in her voice, so close to the bridge of sarcasm that it skimmed it ever so slightly.

"Yeah, the Lurker." Sophie leaned back again from her half-stoop, folding her arms around herself and tucking Baby Tooth into the crook of her elbow, "The Creeper, The Shadow Man, He-who-hides-in-dark-corners?" Baby Tooth tittered a giggle and Sophie rubbed a finger into her vivid neck feathers with a small grin, "Little Bird has been helping me think of names for him."

"So you've seen him?" Jack furrowed his brow as Sophie replied with a solemn nod, and the winter spirit stepped closer fast enough to startle her as he leaned in close to her face, "Has he seen you?"

The way the girl's young body wracked with a shiver had nothing to do with the cold. Her small fingers dug into the skin of her upper arms, her whole body clenched and her pupils blew wide to swallow the green of her eyes as if she had been sucked into some horrible recollection and she nodded again, the rose of her cheeks faded enough to make her seem pale and drawn.

Jack held out a hand to her again, this time in offering and favoured her with a weak smile, "Don't worry. He won't get you. I won't let him, but we have to leave here now. There's not enough light-"

"Like that even matters."

Jack moved on instinct, throwing himself at the blonde as the air around them peppered heavily with dark sand. They hit the ground hard but Jack didn't have the air in his lungs to apologise as the small girl squirmed underneath the protective cover of his body, Sophie curling into a ball as he tried to shield her from as much as he could. The grass blackened around them, stained with the granules of Nightmares, wilting the perfectly healthy blades to decay. 

A short perfunctory check of the surrounding area and Jack caught sight of Jamie as he approached, shadows winding around his wrists like coiling snakes eager to strike, his stride low and even, as if he didn't even want to bother himself with them, or that they had no chance to defend against them. He approached as if he had already won and that stirred anger in Jack even as he tucked Sophie in closer to his chest.

She rolled her head up, cradling Baby Tooth close as her soft voice rose to the panicked note Jack had heard once before, in the same spot as her brother had thrown a struggling bagful of helpless animal into the deeper waters of the lake, "Jamie, stop!"

"The company you keep, little mouse," Jamie sneered summoning up more shadows from the rocks, trees and even his own shadow swept up his legs to twist around his fingers, ready to be commanded, "It offends me."

"Move!" Sophie cried out, and Jack leapt to his feet, pushing away the jarring sensation as he moved too fast for his nausea to cope with, reaching back to haul the blonde after him but she was pulled back, small arms not unlike her own sculpted from darkness pressing her to her back on the ground. They came from beneath her, and even as Jack pulled at them, his strength of little amount compared to their own at nightfall, he could see that the arms stemmed from Sophie's own shadow, turned against her through her siblings persuasion, further ensnaring her the more he tried to force it off. Grabbing Baby Tooth before Sophie's hand was lost in the blackened grip, he set the small fairy to the ground and she burrowed into the grass to hide.

"Look out!" Sophie tossed her head as black bindings would up over her mouth and Jack caught movement from the corner of his eyes, his own shadow stretching forth to trap his leg. Jack stumbled back from the tangled preteen, horrified as he watched his own shadow turn on him, "Wind!"

She was there immediately, urging him up and he leapt onto her rolling currents, barely escaping the sinuous lengths of black that shot up from the ground, his shadow twining together cords of darkness into thick ropes that chased him, forcing him higher into the air. Jack heaved a breath, choking on the adrenaline as he tried to make himself move faster than he was capable of, his depleted reserves of energy wearing him thin in exhaustion. The black sand writhed under his skin as the particles that hovered in the dimming light, loose in the night air began to draw together, Nightmares braying as the light extinguished itself and circling him ready for the final order.

Jamie was not watching, standing over the struggling form of his sister with a terrifying smile as she stared up at him, eyes wide and gagged, her muffled cries practically inaudible, barely able to move as more shadows wound around her. Could she even breathe under all of that?

Jack managed to push his shaking hand into his hoodie pocket, desperate to distract his first believer enough to give Sophie time to try and escape. Heat grazed his fingers and he paused long enough to tuck his sleeve over his skin before he touched the tooth box as he pulled it free and held it high, the black and gold shining with an unnatural light, "Jamie!"

The Last Light's eyes moved lazily from the twitching girl at his feet to fix on the winter spirit, cruel and capricious in their interest, sparing a glance for the item he held aloft. Jack dared to hope as Jamie paused, face carefully blank as he considered the tooth box but that hope crumbled into dust as the teenager threw his head back and laughed. The note of cold amusement soaked through any childish wonder that had once breathed life into that sound, chilling it to a deathly ring that made Jack curl the little box of corrupted memories to his chest. The world was shrinking, narrowed down to the bitter moment when he finally realised, her may never see the Jamie that he once was, ever again. 

He could hear the boy speaking, could hear the venom in his voice, but none of it was his Jamie. None of it was what he remembered and it made him feel ill, as if he had gorged himself on too much and needed to expel yet his stomach was empty and his hands were shaking again. What was happening?

"You don't know what you're doing, do you?" Jamie bared his teeth at the stunned frost sprite in a mean smile, "Coming into my town, waving that old rubbish around, pretending you can make it better?"

Jack lurched back in the Wind's embrace too late as Jamie launched the shadows from his hands, snapping lengths like ropes pulled taut and faster than the others, fed directly from his strength. One managed to slip around his waist, coiling tight and knotting enough to squeeze the air from his lungs, the other circling his neck and Jamie pulled them firmly, giving him no room to back away, "You think when Pitch let me out, I was afraid?" Jamie laughed, cruel and sardonic, "No, I was stronger. I was grateful."

Jack pulled at the shadows that bound him, shoving the tooth box back into his pocket as he scratched at them with both hands but he couldn't focus, their number tripling in front of his eyes as wave after wave of dizziness struck him and he couldn't see what he was pulling at anymore, the Wind unable to hold him airborne against the shadows grip, her panicked wailing as she lost him inch by inch like a banshee scream in the air.

"And you have no idea, do you?" Jamie continued, his smile wide and merciless, "How I proved myself? How I held down my precious little sister and took one of her darling little baby teeth as she screamed and cried. How I lured your oh so noble Tooth Queen back here to collect and led her straight into Pitch's grasp. You have no idea what I'm capable of, Frost!"

Jack kicked back. Jamie was too close, the Wind could not hold him, the shadows were everywhere. The words he spoke cut like red hot knives. That smile, that smile that was not real, was not Jamie, was so close. 

"At least you were never an official Guardian. You would have sucked at it. Just look at you!" Jamie's arm slid around the frost sprite's captured waist in a parody of care and Jack pushed back to escape the malice in those dark eyes, "You weren't there to save me as I slept in the dark, alone, forced to face my darkest fears. Do you know what that's like, Jack?"

A hand curved gently around the shell of his ear, tracing lines down his jaw before his chin was grabbed in a harsh pinch and he was forced to bear the full brunt of spite directed at him from a face that had once been all awe and faith, unable to close his eyes or look away, "Of course you don't."

Jack tried to get his feet under him, too numb with fear and fatigue to succeed as Jamie tightened his grip, sudden movement jarring any balance Jack managed to achieve in those brief seconds, Jamie's expression widening to the deranged grin of one who was about to unleash pure chaos, "All you've ever feared is loneliness. Well..." Jamie swung him around his body roughly and Jack hung in his hands, blinking his eyes in a farfetched attempt to quell the sick feeling in his gut, "When I'm done with you, you're going to crave it."

Jack let out a startled cry as he was thrown with surprising ease, the Wind not swift enough to catch him and he braced himself for impact as he flew towards the lake, limbs flailing madly to right himself as his head spun in frenzied circles, his nausea swelling up tenfold as he tried to hold himself together. The ice that usually swarmed his immediate environment did not freeze the water, his skin pulsing brightly as the sand beneath it flared to contain his power and Jack dropped into the shallows, Jamie following at a contented stroll, wading up to his shins without bothering to remove his shoes or roll up his jeans, watching the horror play over the spirit's face as he seized up, so used to ice that he had never had to face long buried fears of his past life.

The teenager reached forward, snatching a handful of fair white hair and forcing the sprite to arch in an uncomfortable manner as he pulled back, Jack's face twisting in a grimace as he was yanked up to his knees, the left flaring in pain not yet healed.

"Say, Jack?" Jamie began in a conversational tone, "Didn't you drown?"

Jack had no time to scream as Jamie pressed him below the water, open mouth flooding instantly and liquid forcing itself down his throat with a pressure so persistent he had no choice but to allow it and his eyes clenched shut in pure unadulterated terror. He could see the bottom of the lake for a short while before it dropped into a deep curve lost into darkness, where blue bled into black and he could remember clawing at the ice above his head, unable to come up for air before he was inevitably drawn into the dark. With his eyes shut, the sensations were more vivid, the slow fill of his lungs, the inability to scream, the weight of crushing water trying to press him into nothingness.

Jack clawed at the hands that held him down and Jamie held firm, just long enough for his entire body to weaken from thrashing as he pulled him up by the root of his hair and Jack had never been in so much pain, coughing out the mouthfuls of lake-water he could retch up. His lungs felt heavy and he couldn't seem to breathe, no room for air in his chest.

Jamie watched the frost sprite with the predatory gaze of a hunter playing with its meal before the untimely end, "Feel that? The complete mind-numbing bite of fear?" Jack kicked his legs in the water, the surface rippling but not breaking under his pathetic struggles, willing the ice from his fingers but nothing came forth.

"Nobody can help you, Jack." Jamie's laugh was vicious, "Not the Lagomorph. Not the Bird Lady."

Jack was plunged under the water again.

"And not Jolly Old Saint Nick."


	12. Pale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This doesn't feel right  
> Feels like everything's further away  
> Dead as the nightlife, hindsight, watching another mistake  
> You never feel right, long nights  
> Following into the day  
> Pale as the streetlight, pure white  
> Washing the colour away
> 
> The Birthday Massacre - 'Pale'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna: Apologies for the lateness of this chapter. I didn't mean for it to take so long but between a nasty bout of writer's block that cut me in bits for two weeks, and the heavy emotional flood that was me packing all my shit to move out of my parents house because my partner was not welcome (in extremely polite terms), that put me in the uncomfortable place of 'Here, have an ultimatum...'
> 
> So yes, I might be a little bit estranged from my father at the moment. That does all sorts of things to me that I can't currently think about in detail without wanting to cry. So my apologies for the lateness of the chapter. And... shall we get back on track?

Silvered ears perks up at the unusual vibrancy in the air, the dark of the small cramped cupboard unable to keep out the way the Earth fed subtle signals into the atmosphere. True, the messages were barely decipherable, dulled as they were by stale air and no circulation but the barest hint of discrepancy from the usual (the usual being absolutely nothing) was more than enough reason to pay attention.

Nothing much had happened beyond Jack Frost's descent into the shadows and while guilt weighed heavily on his heart, he had extensive experience that dwelling on something that could not be changed now did more harm than good, and he'd tried his damnedest to be of use. When the familiar sour tang of the Boogeyman's presence had permeated Jamie's room, he'd tried to absorb as much of the muffled conversation as he could in an attempt to soak up information on Jack's whereabouts, if he had managed to escape the Lair but the voices were too hushed and the magic of the cage suffocated his senses just enough for the main gist of what was being said to float right over his fluffy head. It was a bit of a disappointment, to be sure.

He knew he should have put more effort into persuading the kid to leave, should have tried harder but Frost was persistent and nothing had been able to quell the Pooka's yearning for freedom. In the end, his own selfish want for company and a meagre chance to escape had been enough to hold his tongue and that twinge of self-chastisement rode nerves that made him question himself. That in itself was cause for shame. After all, wasn't it he who had questioned Jack once upon a time? 

He doesn't care about children. He's an irresponsible, selfish... We NEVER should have trusted you.

Defamation of a character he had met perhaps a handful of times, born from circumstances he couldn't even think to understand without information he hadn't waited to receive. He'd had many opportunities to think over his treatment of the Frost sprite and had come to the realisation a dozen times more that it was he that was selfish. 

It didn't take a genius to see the desperation in the kid, the fear he would never be seen that he sought to conceal with snowball fights and that wily smile, the desperation to be noticed after three hundred years of loneliness, and wouldn't it have been so easy to heal that fear with open acceptance? When he had taunted Jack with his lack of belief, the kid was hurt and that hurt was written across his face for the world to see, only the world hadn't seen it. He had, and all he felt from that was a sick satisfaction. The same again when he had raised his paw to strike in that glade on Easter Sunday. Pain, in expressive eyes and the twist of a mouth pinched hard to stifle sound. There had been no explanation. Jack could have told them anything and they wouldn't have believed him, so firmly set in the alienation of a character that was not the person before them.

He'd had time to come to terms with his horrible reception to the boy, but no time to resolve it, to make it up to him and now, with Jack likely locked up in the Lair (the least horrifying of the circumstances he had contemplated), would he ever get the chance again?

Bunnymund knew Pitch had been after Jack, had heard him say as much on the days when the Shadow-master had deigned to visit the Bennett household but the reasoning had never been clear. Pitch had never said why. It was obvious the boy had a serious flare for elemental magic, enough to start a prospective avalanche of natural disasters and he could see how the results of such could appeal to someone who coveted fear, but Pitch had more than enough power on his own without the aid of Jack Frost. There had been that one time he had come to a conclusion that he did not wish to mull over again, the likelihood slicing through him as a cut of heady discontentment and the reasons why were painful to think about even if they insisted on pushing their way to his attentions when he'd been left alone too long or things were far too quiet. 

It had been a truly unhappy day when Pitch had returned to the Lair after he had stolen away himself and Jamie. They had been there only an hour at most when North had been dragged, battered and bruised and more than a little subdued through the caverns, slick clawed hands holding wrists, arms and even tangled to yank in the dishevelled fluff of his beard to haul him around the mountains of tooth boxes. Bunnymund had watched from his cage, more than a little relieved to see no sign of their feathered companion. Toothiana was not here. It was a small comfort as he watched the fearlings fling North to the ground where he lay, a muted groan the only sign of life until after a long few minutes, he tried to move, to push himself up.

Pitch had followed after, and in his arms? Jack Frost lay limp, head tilted back against the Nightmare King's shoulder, one arm swinging loose from the cradle Pitch had him in, large hands curved under the boys knees and supporting the loose bow of his back. Jack was clearly out of it, his entire body glittering black from the layer of sand that dusted him like a fine veneer of paint. Not a hint of his pale complexion, the doeskin of his leathers or the blue of his hoodie were visible under the sheen of it and Bunnymund had feared the worst.

"Unhand Jack." North struggled to force the words out but even though that was clear there was a bite to them, a strength he didn't seem to physically possess from such a heavy loss of his belief. Pitch merely cocked his head as if he had been asked a question in a language he didn't understand, a sinister grin spreading from a small curl of lips to a full-razor split across his face and he turned his attentions down to the sleeping sprite he held, pressing him closer in a way that was not reassuring.

"I believe you should be concerned more with your own treatment, Cossack." And Bunnymund could not, would not believe what he was seeing as Pitch pressed his nose to the side of Jack's face, eyes closing as if to breathe him in. It looked as if... but no, Pitch couldn't _want_ Jack. 

North had let out a bellow of rage, whipping forth a sabre from his belt beneath the heavy red cloth of his coat, flinging back the weighty fabric so he had better access to move as he stumbled a charge towards the Nightmare King, eyes like hardened chips of resolve.

He was foiled before his coat even had the chance to hit the ground, the fearlings swarming to encircle the Russian's legs and Bunnymund winced as he hit the ground hard, cursing loudly in his mother tongue. Pitch was not disturbed in the least, eyes flicking open with the lazy satisfaction of a warm, well-fed housecat to observe the Guardian of Wonder at his feet, bound in shadows and squirming like a fish on a baited hook, sabre plucked from his fisted hands to clatter across the gold embellishments of Tooth's collection.

"I must see to Jack's comfort before I see to your own. Don't go anywhere now, will you?" The tone was good-humoured, breezy enough to bristle the Pooka's fur as North growled up at the Shadowmancer, something Pitch saw fit to ignore as he stepped back into the black of Lair and vanished, Jack with him.

It had been the last time he had seen the sprite until he had shown up in Jamie's room, pulling his cage from the darkness of the closet to try and set him free and in the years before that, he had felt so much guilt for his treatment of the boy, so much resentment for his own unexplainable dislike. The blizzard of '68 had been the longest grudge he had held against anyone and he hadn't even tried to settle that with Jack so why-

Bunnymund startled from his recollections as a sharp tingle raced over his pelt, jarring him enough to knock him into the side of his little cage, his fur standing to attention as if an electric charge had been pressed through his small body. A light burned in his chest, bright and brilliant as an open flame and the feeling was so alien that as it flared a second time, he could do nothing to stop himself as he slid down against the bars of his cage, legs turned to jelly as warmth flood through him from the pads of his paws to his whisker tips. It was wonderful and close and felt alarmingly like belief but it couldn't be...

"Jack?" His dry tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth and though he feared Jamie might be there to hear him, the hope that Jack had managed to escape was too strong to stifle. The air seemed to shiver around him as it crept through the cracks around the closet door to reach him, flexing in the dark like some living creature summoning him to grace it with his complete attention and Bunnymund closed his eyes, bracing his small silver shoulders as he forced himself to calm despite the pleasant distraction of that comforting warmth at his centre, "Show me."

Being on the first floor of a manmade construction for so long in so weak a condition had dulled his perceptions more than he'd have liked and the concentration took its toll quickly upon his nerves sending sparks of brief pain flitting up his brain stem to the base of his skull but the situation called for it. Connecting with the Earth was much easier with direct contact but it was still possible to communicate without it even if control over the connection was minimal. 

Nature's pain was great without the Herald of Spring to usher in its seasons and new life though its gentle touches of reassurance and the soft pulse of the planets natural resources brushing against his mind were loving and kind, a beautiful admission to one left so cut off from his centre.

It took some time to stabilise, a static like white noise bursting in his ears that Bunnymund fought not to flinch against, relaxing his tense muscles to leave himself bare in reception of Nature's call and eventually, the black and white buzzing withdrew, a steady hum like a plucked wire echoing in his head as springtime colours wove patterns behind his eyelids, enchanting streaks of gold and fuchsia intertwined with lush even turquoise he had only ever witnessed by his own painting hand, colours inspired by the exotic feathers of the Warrior Queen.

"Tooth?" Bright bold red shot through the elegant mix, almost knocking the Pooka from his meditative state with its vibrancy, though it seemed to throb with the beginnings of a headache between his eyes as the pressure from prolonged connection began to chip at his strength, "And North? They're alive?"

Hope raced wild in his heart for the first time in an age and he cursed his underdeveloped senses that he could see no more than a colour spectrum, "How is this even possible?"

Another image came, faster than the lazy tangle of colours, a mere flash to his eyes that made them water at the intensity in the dark but the vision itself was worth the splitting headache it caused, agony blooming across his brow in a tidal wave that hammered through his concentration and wore it thin. The connection snapped, stretched to its limit and unable to take the strain and Bunnymund clenched his eyes shut to try and block it out but it rode over him for what seemed like forever, the few seconds of mind-numbing misery enough to remind him why he never opened his mind to Nature in his weakest form.

A slow breath escaped his lips in a shaky exhale, the throb at his temples eased by the lack of light in the cupboard as he blinked in the dark, trying to make sense of the last image he had gotten before the pain had enveloped him. It was surprisingly effortless to recall and for the first time in a long while, Bunnymund felt a smile twitch the length of his whiskers, his centre warming at the thought.

The vision itself was of a small bundle of bright feathers in a cupped and open palm, mismatched eyes aglow with belief and happiness as she preened up at her saviour. Jack's little confidante (Baby Tooth, Bunnymund recalled with ease) sat fluttering useless rainbow wings at her back and the beaming face that watched over her was none other than little Sophie Bennett, face lit up with joy as she swept back unruly blonde hair to better examine the little creature she held. Bunnymund could feel his centre heating, the warmth and strength of it flooding throughout his limbs as he held the image in his mind, the hope that spread through him as palpable as the dark that surrounded him.

"Well whaddaya know... lil' ankle biter breaks the rules again." He allowed himself a fond smile, "Atta girl."

III

"Mmmph!" Sophie could feel the ache in her jaw as she tried to bite around the shadow that clamped over her mouth like a vice and the taste of it was wretched, stale as undisturbed dust and rot that congealed over her tongue like thick smoke from heavily burnt decayed meat. The shadows themselves seemed to react as though her skin were painful to the touch, recoiling whenever she managed to muster a particularly productive struggle and despite the darkness as dusk approached nightfall by gradual degree, she could swear brief bursts of gold light sparked from her fingertips from the corner of her eyes, golden dust raining down to glitter in the grass.

Sophie had no idea what that meant but if it worked, then why not? Her kicks hit marks she wasn't sure were there to hit, bit by bit, the coils of shadow around her relenting as though exhausted and as she finally managed to free her mouth, the blonde yanked her arm up hard and sank her teeth into the thick length wrapped around her wrist, muffling her own whimper at the phantom pain that lanced through her skin. The feeling of teeth in her arm was alarming, as though she had bitten herself even if she knew she had not but she did not stop, eyes wide as they fixed on the two figures in the water, desperate to help Jack. Her shadow burst under the force of her bite, the taste vile as liquid spread over her tongue in a rush that almost made her choke and the shadow reared back to flatten against the ground, seeping into it like mist as it released her from its grip. 

She knew, even as she wriggled free of the last snags of darkness that she would never have been able to best the thing had Jamie not been so distracted, her shadow near invisible against the ground as she scrambled from her knees to her feet, eyeing it warily. How could such a thing be possible? That a shade of herself could happily attack its reason for existence was maddening and she spat a mouthful of black viscous fluid at the ground, wiping at her mouth and scanning the immediate vicinity for Baby Tooth.

It was getting so dark that when she couldn't seem to spot the little fairy, no colourful dot chirping up at her from the grass, a brief bout of panic wrapped around her, tight and uncomfortable, bitter and cold and she looked back to the lake, the sight enough to shake her to her foundations. There was no time to look for the Little Bird. Jack was in danger.

"Stop..." The small girl stumbled on unsteady legs, voice a hoarse whisper from the thick darkness that she'd been unlucky enough to swallow, clogged in her throat like molasses and she leapt over the half-raised shapeless hands of her shadow, almost tripping face-first into the ground as she balanced herself and came to a halt at the lake's edge. The water there was pale leading into depthless dark, Jack and Jamie somewhere in the middle of it and Sophie could hear her racing heartbeat in her ears as she reached out with useless hands. She could never breach the water. She had not for many years.

Once bright memories of splashing in the shallows with her brother under the watchful eyes of their mother from many years ago meant nothing now. The happy times when Jamie had been an explorer and storyteller, a shining example of everything Sophie hoped to be before he became this cruel and twisted creature were smoke and mirrors through the painful years she had endured the dark distortion of her once precious brother and it was for that reason she dared not venture too close to the lake now, more than a little frightened to set foot in what had once been a fond childhood recollection.

Jamie had drowned many a stray here, animals she had taken in to protect and shelter. People feared too much these days, turning out their once beloved family pets and laying traps in their gardens out of some overwhelming need to keep themselves and their children free of pests and vermin. Burgess had become completely illogical in the years past, very few of the town's inhabitants looking to take care of the housebound animals turned out onto the streets, immune to the epidemic that was fear. 

Sophie had to be the youngest of them, pocketing ham from her sandwiches at mealtimes to feed the hungry dogs that wandered the park and sneaking kittens back to the safety of her room, dripping milk from her bedtime snack into their hungry mouths as she comforted them with happy stories and a cuddle or two. Jamie had not been supportive of her caring for these abandoned animals, snatching each and every one he caught her with from her room and often her own hands to callously toss them, trussed up and helpless into the deep waters, often forcing her to watch and learn from her mistakes.

"Foolish girl and your foolish feelings," He would snarl as he dragged her home time and again, blinded by her own failure and desperate through the hopelessness for some way to make things better, "You'll get nothing but grief for your charity. You'll learn, in time."

It hadn't taken long for the nightmares to come, fed by her pain and behind her closed eyes in the middle of the night, half-limp creatures with dead eyes came slinking with deafening wails up the banks to follow her in her sleep. Her tortured screams had been just another thing for Jamie to mock her with and as she stood on the lakeside, water a bare inch from her shoes, she felt a shiver wrack her slight frame, every ripple in the water a stimulant for her fear.

"J-Jamie..." Her voice was gravelly and as she swallowed all she could taste was the bile in her own throat and that thick essence of stale rot left on her tongue from the shadows, "Please stop." but he could not hear her, too much enamoured with the bubbles breaking the water's surface as he held Jack under, too fascinated with his own hands curved around the back of the immortal's head as he gleaned as much terror from the helpless spirit as he could siphon.

A splutter of coughing made the girl jump back as the elder Bennett wrenched the Frost sprite up by the collar of his hoodie, Jack not even able to will his hands up to grab onto the darkling's shoulders, unable to support the exhausted ache of his bones and clearly too spent to fight off both the shadows and their wielder, no strength left in his body to free himself as he hung, face wet and eyes closed from the merciless hands that held him. Jack looked as though he had given up and that rang alarm bells so sharply in the girls head that she very nearly stepped into the water of the lake, barely able to even see Jack's snow-bright hair in the gloom.

"Bennett."

The word was practically a whisper on the wind and while Sophie spun around with wide eyes to search for the culprit, Jamie's head turned to a specific location with a bright leer as a long lone shadow moved towards the lake from the tree-line, shadows reaching after him as though to pull him back into the dark.

"'Bout damn time you got here." The teenager looped a strong arm around the winter spirit's pale neck, Jack sagging lifelessly against his chest as he struggled to draw breath, water trickling from his partly open mouth as he tried to expel it. His wet hair hung down over tired blue eyes, and he looked all the younger for it, no fear in his features, just a yearning for the struggle to be over, "Your pet got out."

"Bring him to me." Pitch sounded calm, collected and his hands folded habitually at his back even as he cast a bored-looking stare in Sophie's direction, not expecting the sudden straightening of hunched shoulders and the glower she returned to him, refusing to be cowed under his gaze. Pitch exposed his sharp teeth in a malicious smirk at her bravado, clearly amused, "Hello there-"

"S-stay away-" Jack threw his head back sharply, barely missing Jamie's nose, and letting out a startled yelp as Jamie shook him violently until he could barely focus, voice distorted with sharp huffs of breath as he tried to inhale, "Stay away from her!"

"Boy. He is not yours to toy with." The Nightmare King's tone was cold, but his gaze did not move from the girl openly staring him down, did not even look to Jack as he observed the impudence of such a small creature, a gnat really, that he could squash beneath his heel as easily as he had bright lights on the carved continents of a globe many years past, "Bring him."

Jack's mouth drew into a stern line and he did the only thing he could think to at the time, letting his tired legs relax enough to surrender any small support he was able to keep, dropping limp in Jamie's arms like a stone and the teenager lost his equilibrium fast in his effort to secure the Frost Sprite's arms. Jack wriggled just enough, pressing his foot to Jamie's knee to kick through the water, thrusting his hand into his pocket and clenching his jaw against the shout of pain that threatened to burst from his lips as his skin flared with agony, his bare fingers burning around the corrupted tooth box as though it were pulled from bright blue flame, "Sophie! Catch!"

Yanking the golden box free of his hoodie, Jack bit down on his scream as he swung back, throwing the half-black cylinder as far as he was able, the invisible fire lancing up through his arm enough to spot his vision with hazy colours. He was able to make out the blonde and purple blur that was Sophie darting to the right in pursuit of the item he had flung at her, arms outstretched in a hope of catching it and his chest hurt as he wheezed out a short pained laugh. Apparently his aim was truly starting to suck. 

The swell of black at the corner of his eye was more a cause for concern as he tried to blink away the water coating his lashes to turn his attention to the Shadowmancer, blurring gold and grey like an abstract painting despite how much he tried to focus. Jamie caught up to the winter spirit in a burst of speed, wrapping arms of steel around his waist and neck, dragging him up from his knees and the water danced around his hips in a messy spray at the violent disruption. Jack did not struggle against the enraged teenagers grip, shaking his head to clear his vision and despite the faint misting at the edges of his periphery and the blanket of coloured spots still waltzing before his eyes, he did not like what he saw. 

Pitch was not looking towards the lake anymore, his gaze returned to the human girl as she threw herself to the floor, hissing in surprise as her fingers touched the blackened metal of the tooth box, immediately sucking her burned fingers into her mouth to soothe the throb of reddened skin. Jack leaned forward to call out but Jamie's arm pulled up from his waist, clapping down over his mouth with force and Jack nearly bit his own tongue as his cheeks were squeezed harshly in an effort to silence him.

He could make nothing more than muffled sounds as Pitch moved towards Sophie, his gait smooth and timely, unbothered as a mountain in a light breeze and with every step he took, the deep black around him thickened, blurring out the edges of natural darkness, brimstone eyes flashing open in his wake, Nightmares and fearlings and their hushed whispering just loud enough for the younger Bennett to look up at his approach.

Sophie gave a squeak of fright at the sheer multitude of eyes that were approaching her, descending like a hungry maw to swallow her up, fronted by the looming shadow of the Nightmare King, hands curled like lengthened claws at his sides reaching up to snare her. She panicked, near twisting her ankle beneath her in her mad haste to get up, barely managing to kick the tooth box away as she crumbled into a forward roll that gave her a few feet of space. Her first thought was to follow the treasure that Jack had thrown her, her second, to get as far away from it as possible. She hadn't had a good enough look at it, but if it was something Pitch wanted, better that he have to choose between chasing her or retrieving it, and not manage to catch them both at the same time.

Pitch graced the her efforts with a half-hearted smirk as he ignored the box completely.

A multitude of curse words her mother would lock her up for raced across her surface thoughts until the word 'RUN' blared in her head like a siren-assisted flare. The eyes spread, circling around as though caught in an unfelt storm, leaving streaks like comet trails in the air and Sophie could do nothing but watch as the fearlings surrounded her, picking apart the line where the summoned shadows blocked out the natural darkness of the night air. Beyond that, she could see no stars, no glitter of the moon on the water of the lake, no light before the black spread wide in a parody of a gaping hole to engulf her fully and before she closed her eyes, paralysed in the wake of her own mounting terror, a splash of bright turquoise and glittering gold sparkled at the edge of the darkness. 

Baby Tooth's feathers gleamed with a vibrancy all their own as she clambered atop the octagonal tooth box in the pressed grass and Sophie turned her face away a second too late as a bright light flared enough to burn her eyes. All around her and close enough she could feel breath stirring her hair, the fearlings recoiled with speed, screeching loud enough for the small girl to clap her hands over her ears but it was not enough to block out the noise. Her head rang with the pained sounds of dying animals and inhuman snarls and even Pitch had paused to turn his attentions elsewhere, his smudged silhouette turned away as she looked up through wet eyes to find him stood before her, over her, taller than she had ever seen him, closer than she had ever seen him and only slightly less threatening when not staring her steadfast in the face, pulling her every fear directly from her mind.

Sophie risked a glance to Baby Tooth, not able to pick out what she was doing through the dark, the blaze of light that fled the tooth box dimmed to a faint glimmer under her hands, highlighting the determined frown that set her small features. The fairy stayed to the golden end of the box, the burnt half just a void shape under the light, the pearl and crystal layering of it blackened so badly that it did not refract the light as the other half did. Sophie dared to shuffle backwards on the grass, flickering her eyes between the Boogeyman and the glow of the tooth box, able to see clearer as the light burst out in a minute wave and Baby Tooth closed her eyes, her small shoulders hunching down sharply, hands pressed resolutely to the gold surface. 

The ringing in Sophie's head was pierced by a loud scream.

"No!" Jamie thrashed in the water, and Jack's blue eyes were wide as he was dragged back from the shallows with the faltering teenager, Jamie not able to hear Pitch's warning hiss as his grip tightened around the flailing spirit. A sound like a sharp crack and Baby Tooth's alarmed shriek cut through the thick evening air like a knife, jagged and shrill and Jamie seized up, body rigid as he collapsed back into the water, dragging the frost sprite down with him, Jack unable to kick against the gravity of Jamie's dead-weight.

Bubbles rose from the human's mouth in a flurry of short bursting waves that obscured Jack's vision as he twisted madly under the water and he was only able to turn as the arms around him loosened their vicelike grip just enough for him to move, the weight of the depths crowding him in a manner too familiar for him to ignore. His fears spiked enough to ride the trembles wracking his body as he tried to force the far too fresh recollection of how it felt to die from his thoughts and the boy who clung to him seemed equally terrified. Jamie's eyes were round in the dark waters, an expression of fear of the brunet's face Jack had not seen since the night a ten year old child had been swallowed by the shadows and Jack, despite the horrors the boy had wrought in his decade under Pitch's wing, could not leave him there to suffer. 

As he reached out, worming his arm up between the both of their bodies, Jamie jerked his face away, another flood of bubbles escaping parted lips in what Jack could swear was a loud cry muffled by the water and the frost sprite squirmed until his other arm was of use, pressing his fingers into the fabric of Jamie's shirt, squeezing his shoulders in an attempt to get Jamie to meet his eyes. There was no response. It had only been a half minute at most and Jack could see the water around them getting darker though they sank no further and it seemed to ooze from Jamie's skin like oil, thin and washed out, collecting like tar around them, swirling with a life of its own. It looked like dust, black grains that danced in a slow spiral reminiscent of Saturn's rings, circling, waiting...

'Nightmares. Black sand' Jack realised, his eyes widening as he pressed closer to Jamie, his hands creeping up to clamp around Jamie's face, ignoring the black that stained his fingers as he cupped his cheeks to shake him out of his trance but as his palms pressed to bare skin, a jolt like a frisson of Baltic ice lanced through him, colder than he'd ever felt it and when he closed his eyes, it was not his own memories he saw.

An abandoned toy rabbit lying on its overstuffed side on a bedroom floor. A frosted window pane, fern patterns spreading up to the next sheet of glass with steady precision. A burst of snow from a leaping ice-carved rabbit in an unlit bedroom. A boy, pale and ethereal with blue eyes and hair that shone like moonlight.

Jack struggled to comprehend the beautiful feeling that swallowed him as he saw himself through Jamie's eyes, the surety that lit up inside of him that seeing, and being seen were both the same thing, held the same meaning. Jamie's belief was a warm and tender thing, a solid grasp in the uncertainty of his centuries of loneliness and to feel what he felt the first moment he had seen the winter spirit, it was enough to make his heart swell in pure happiness. A happiness that was so palpable Jack loathed to end it, but Jamie was human, and water could kill, and this had to stop.

When he tried to withdraw, tried to disconnect his hands from the brunet's skin, nothing happened, and Jack could feel his lips frown even as his eyes refused to open. He tried to pull away, tried to look into the boy's eyes but he could not wake up. 

The happiness shrivelled into a tight knot and Jack could feel himself being drawn with it. Pictures raced like pictograms in high speed through his head, images from a perspective he had never seen before. The sight of a small silver rabbit curled in small arms, shaking in the shadows. The sight of himself, reaching out and a small hand, clearly not his own, reaching from the body he was seeing through before everything faded to black. The sight of a rusted metal cage surrounded by the brilliant feral eyes of the Nightmares as they circled and Bunny's horrified face as they drew him under. The feel of fevered claws digging in between ribs to pull him apart and play with his fears. The feel of them crawling inside to twist his light into this ugly, frightful distortion of belief.

Jack opened his mouth to scream, from the pain, from the fright but he could not escape Jamie's memories, could not detach enough to comprehend that they were in no way his, that they had passed, that they could not hurt him. 

As they tucked their sharp little teeth into his heart and bled it into a dark husk that felt no wonder, felt no hope, Jack felt his own heart ache with the pangs of that phantom pain, and with no strength left to sustain him, no part of him that did not crave the empty solace of surrender, the darkness he sank into was welcome.

III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna: I'm sorry. But not really.


	13. Miranda and the Tempest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're twisted like a tree  
> That grows through the ground that I am  
> But I cannot contain the way  
> You're spread through, sucking the life from me  
> Shaping what I could see  
> Always telling me  
> What I will never ever be 
> 
> I cannot deny you  
> Even though I tried  
> I cannot survive you  
> Again you call me to die
> 
> Won't you please set me free?
> 
> Esoterica - 'Miranda and the Tempest'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna: Hello there! Thank you for your patience. I've been slaving myself away to make sure I have enough money to live on as my hours have been cut since I moved house. It's quite nerve-wracking, but thank you for all your kind words and your support. I hope I continue to make you guys proud with this fic! Thank you to everyone who has commented, given kudos and followed! I love you all!

Darkness. He couldn't remember anything else. Darkness and the biting cold, and fear that had for many years sated his hunger, been a comfort for him, a nourishment, gripped around his lungs and squeezed as his eyes opened, stung by the blackened waters he found himself submerged in. He was alone. What happened? How did he get here? 

Jamie clenched his jaw, pressed his lips together to keep the water out, panicked hands clawing through handfuls of liquid as he realised there was no air in his chest, no breath left to consume. The water surged around his movement, shifting and shining as though glitter danced inside of it, and a grittiness bit at his eyes, rough and textured like sand or grain, black as pitch and clouding the water as he tried to find a way out. It took barely a second for him to kick his heavy legs, sluggish movements that he found difficult to control but he was convinced he was going the right way. There was a tugging in his stomach and it urged him to look down, to go back, that he was missing something but he disregarded it, its call overwhelmed by the need to breathe and as the way became clearer, the water less murky, a sudden burst of speed was all it took to break the surface.

The first mouthful of oxygen brought with it a splash of lake water that made the human splutter, choking as he swallowed but the bank was within sight and he swam towards it, inelegant in his floundering until he was confident with the fistful of mud that anchored him to the shore. Burgess Lake. Raking back a handful of wet hair that dripped into his eyes, Jamie looked back towards the dying ripple that followed him, flashes of churning black sand in the depths and a pair of frighteningly familiar blue eyes all he could see and were those memories? He didn't even know.

"Jamie!"

He turned his head, swiping granules of the matted dark sand from his eyes, heart skipping a beat in fright as he looked directly up into an angry face, a face that had sneered down at him as he and his friends huddled behind the guardians from atop his Nightmare steed, surrounded by the corrupted sands stolen from the wielder of Dreams. The face of the Nightmare King. Jamie was too stunned to move as an ashen hand tore into the sodden shoulder of his shirt, yanked him clear of the water and up into the air. Pitch Black looked taller, more imposing than he remembered, angular face twisted into an enraged snarl that revealed shark's teeth like a row of knives waiting to rip through him, "Where is he?"

Jamie squirmed, legs kicking at open air as he spared a glance to the floor and when did his legs get so long? Where was who? A broken whimper escaped his lips and Pitch did not like the sound of it if his impatient roar of anger was anything to go by. The hand that held him swung, and Jamie yelped as he was released, flying across grass and mud to land awkwardly on his left arm, jolting the socket with a sickening crack that lanced fire through his shoulder. The Boogeyman was staring at the lake as if it had some untold treasure to yield, and even from this angle, the strung tendons in his neck stood tense like the drawn strings of a cello, waiting for the bow to wring them of sound. The water remained calm.

Jamie clutched a hand to his shoulder, feeling no broken skin and glad of it, more than a little perturbed by how much effort it took to move his arm, fingers longer than he remembered kneading into shoulders broader than he could recall. Why was this all so baffling? He barely managed to suppress his flinch as the grass rustled at his side and pale hands hovered over him, afraid to touch, "Jamie?" The voice was a whisper as he looked up into the face of a young girl, blonde hair knotted and wild, clothes rumpled and mud-stained and green eyes painfully familiar to him even if the voice was not, "Jamie, are you alright?"

He looked up at her, noting some kind of recognisable feature in her face that brought to mind a giggling two-year old, tripping down steps and gaudy bubble-coloured fairy-wings tied to chubby childlike arms with cheap elastic, "Who are you?" 

The girl reared back as though she had been struck, pale face drawn into a horrified grimace, "You don't know?" At his simple shake of the head, she looked towards the towering black shadow at the lake edge, leaning in, her voice a whisper that cracked down the middle as though it hurt her to even ask, "What do you remember? Do you know who you are?"

"I'm Jamie Bennett." He hesitated as though to check he was correct and only at her nod did he continue, brow furrowed as if trying to discern some unusual mystery, "I live with my mom... and my sister. We have a dog named Abi..." Jamie's brow furrowed at the upset look on the girl's face at the mention of his beloved greyhound, "What happened? Where is everybody? Where's Monty, and Cupcake? Where's the Easter Bunny?" 

Sophie could feel the helplessness inside of her before she could properly voice it, able to see the brother she knew and loved inside this grown and confused boy, and as Jamie looked down at himself, the fear that was burning in the back of those dark eyes flared brightly and he kicked at the ground, as if trying to stand but not knowing how, "What happened to me? What is this?" He made it to his feet, looking at once uncomfortable, unsteady and moving as though his whole body were too much for him, his hands flying to his throat to rub at the thin skin there, mortified, "That's not my voice! Who are you? Why is this happening?"

"Shhh, you need to calm-" Sophie fluttered her hands at the progressively loud teen, her eyes searching the grass around them for something she seemed to have lost, no flutter of wings or glint of gold there to catch her gaze and she turned her attention to the shadow at the lake, to ensure Pitch was still distracted. He was not. She hardly dared breathe with the alarming truth that she was not imagining the eyes glittering like feral torches in the dark, fixed on them as a jungle cat would study prey and Sophie spared no moment to advise, grabbing hold of her brothers uninjured arm and dragging him after her as she ran, Jamie flailing like a newborn foal on brittle legs after her. 

The escape was short lived and with a cacophony of exploding sound, Nightmares reared from the dark in their hordes, to surround the two siblings, golden eyes aglow and lending a fierceness to their faces in the gloom enough to shake a rattled moan of fear from her brother that drew the Nightmare King like a famished snake to an injured rabbit caught in a trap. Jamie reeled back into the blonde's side, pressing back to her as if he could merge through her to safety as Pitch wrapped one long-fingered hand around the back of the teenager's scalp, lengthening claws digging in just hard enough to burst perfect skin and Jamie made a muted sound of distress as blood trickled down over his temple.

"Ever the thorn in my side, Bennett," Pitch drawled in a tone far too bored to mean anything good, and Sophie reached forward to yank at Jamie's shirt, trying to pull him back from the hypnotising gaze of the Fearling King, "You are useless to me now."

As Pitch drew up his free hand, fingers long and sharp, spiked like ragged drills that could tear flesh from bone with a single swipe, Sophie steeled herself and threw what meagre bodyweight she had into the Boogeyman's ribs, barrelling him down with a hoarse scream she would have liked to call a battle cry had she the courage. Pitch hissed as her clumsy hands swung wild, one fisted into a punch at his hip that made him lose his grip on the elder child, the other pushing at his chest high enough to touch skin between the folds of his robe and her skin contact burned through his flesh like she held fire in her hands.

Jamie tore from the grip to his head, chest heaving in breaths so hard his lungs hurt, and he couldn't make sense of it. What was going on? Why were they at the lake? What was Pitch talking about? He tried to focus, to disconnect from the image of claws descending to dice him into ribbons, so mindless in his co-ordination that he fell into the pack of Nightmares at his back, none of them grateful for the disturbance but more than ready to gorge on easily accessible fear, rearing high as Jamie fell between them and bringing hooves down so close to the boy's head that the bone-chilling terror for his life that soaked through his entire body permeated the air, a fear that any child harboured in the midst of monsters.

Pitch snatched a handful of the girl's blonde hair as she continued to attack him and yanked hard, her screech of agony more satisfying to him then than the buffet of fright her brother was providing for his beloved mares. As her hands came away from him, Pitch was dismayed to see the mark, a half-brand from the girl's fingers spread over his chest like a dark ink-stain against his ashen skin and in that moment as Sophie found herself cornered for a second time, trapped in the Nightmare King's penetrating gaze with nowhere to run and she could swear, as she wrenched against the hand that held her, the temperature plummeted.

A sharp snapping sound rose in volume, from a dim white noise to a sharp crack that reminded her of the time she had carelessly dropped her mother's favourite china teacup on the kitchen counter. It only increased, loud enough to echo over the excited whinny of the mares and Sophie allowed herself a brief moment to roll her eyes to the lake, her head trapped in Pitch's grasp. She did not see him follow suit but as the prickling of her own skin abated soon after and he made no action against her, she could only hope he was looking towards the water as she was. 

The surface of the lake shivered, the small disturbance of the water freezing as ice overtook it, spreading fast and the ripples froze before they had the chance to dissipate. A large fissure, like a rip in a perfect canvas appeared, stark as black paint against the shimmer of the frost crystals that spread over the water to crawl up the banks, curling blades of grass and sprawling curlicues of frost that made damp earth harden and sparkle as if a galaxy of stars had rooted itself to the ground.

The fracture split into a jagged maw with a sound like a scream, broken as though some great force beneath it was hammering through, and Sophie yearned to back to a safe distance as large chunks of ice as thick as a Yeti's wrist rained down to crumble upon the rest of the frozen lake. The air turned bitterly cold and over the silence of the mares, she could hear Jamie's teeth chattering, his waterlogged clothing chilling him through but she could not look. She could not, because from the gaping hole in the centre of the icy lake, a small figure rose.

III

The sudden surge of strength took the Pooka by surprise and he hunched down in the corner of his cage, a little mystified by the strange ebb and flow of energy that seemed to pulse through his bones and the itch that tickled at his skin beneath the fur. He felt as though he were being pulled at from all angles, forced to stretch beyond his limits and the bars that surrounded him seemed to wither under the touch of healthy magic.

The cage had been constructed, not by Pitch's hand, but the hand of the human-fearling that had been taken under the Nightmare King's control. Long had Jamie taunted him with the fact that he would never gain the minute measurement of power needed to break his confinement, that he would always be just an inch from freedom with no way to grasp it. The cage itself was strong enough to hold him yes, breakable only from within and certainly not fool-proof by any means. A cage he had been tortured by for almost a decade with not the barest hint of the miniscule strength needed to best it. Such cruelty could only have been contemplated by a ten-year-old child without seeing the terrible flaw in the plan. Just because something was unlikely did not mean that it was impossible and as another burst of gentle warmth curled around his centre and held on tight, he could feel Sophie's hope like it was a warm cotton blanket, simple, sweet and all-encompassing.

The cage rippled around him in the dark, the poisonous sand-infused metal that sapped his strength pulling away to escape the steady course of natures magic as it seeped between the bars to saturate the downtrodden guardian with its nourishment and with a bursting yell, Aster let it take him, let it swallow him up until could rise from his crouch, the cage flexing away from his body, to brace his legs and throw his aura out as far as he could stretch it.

The cage collapsed, anti-climatic with a whisper of dark sand and a groan that sounded far too tortured to be the grate of metal on metal, half drowned in the cracking of floorboard and the smashing racket of the cupboard door as it swung wide with force, striking the plasterboard behind it with a sound like a gunshot and holding fast as though stuck.

Aster pressed his fore-paws to the boards beneath him, the ominous creak they gave in the smothering silence almost too loud and he moved a little faster, the floor sloping upwards, splintered and cracked from the transference as he moved into the wide open space of the dark bedroom.

Soft whispering made his ears twitch and he looked towards the bed, eyes long attuned to the dark able to see the shifting of the overhanging bed-sheets despite the closed window and no ventilation and a spike of awareness shot down the Pooka's small spine, ruffling up tufts of his fur defensively as he glared at the hem of the hanging bed covers.

"I know yer there, ya cowards," Aster pushed up on his haunches, chest fluffed in agitation as he waited for intentional movement, determined not to make the first move to avoid being bodily dragged headfirst into the Lair. He was almost caught off guard as the lengths of shadow that shot out to ensnare him angled outwards and swerved instead of approaching head on, but the direction they came from left the exit wide open and with a loud bellow, Aster raced for it.

The bedroom door stood slightly ajar, a wide enough gap for him to get through which was odd in itself as Jamie had a preference for solitude but Aster took it as the opening it was, flinging his small body through it and skirting around the doorframe before the shadows could drag him beneath the bed, barely able to stop himself as he reached the lip of the top step descending to the lower floor. It was lighter in this part of the house, the natural darkness of a hallway not inhabited by living shadow which made it easier to pick out the dangers of tricks and traps to prevent intruders and escapees and to distinguish threat from non-existent threat.

The shadows that crept over soft carpet to follow him were more than obvious and Aster bared his sharp little teeth at them in annoyance as he leapt down onto the first step, the height of the full flight quite jarring in his weaker form. The front door of the house was swung wide and unattended, rocking back and forth in the light wind on silent hinges as though someone had left in a hurry and fruitless though it seemed, he hoped that if it had been Sophie, that she was beyond harm's reach.

Casting glances back the way he came, Aster noted that the tendrils of shadow that dared follow him hovered indecisively at the top of the steps, swaying to and fro like hypnotic snake-heads, black against the lighter darkness. He had never seen them so distracted and the suspicion that Pitch had something to do with it settled unease like lead in his stomach. Anything that could take the attention from a shadow seeking live prey was something to be immediately wary of, even if it did give him more of a chance to flee. The last two steps were conquered in a single leap and the way was clear to the door.

Aster would have preferred to escape the healing touch of sunlight but the night sky was prevalent, no moon visible through dense cloud cover, all ominously moving in a single charge towards the lake and a fresh breeze chilled the sensitive skin of his nose. There was a disturbance in the natural balance, a change in temperature, in weather that confused the flow of the seasons and Aster perked up his ears against the cold to better gage it, unsure of the time of year from his stint in captivity. The wooden slats of the porch worn smooth beneath his paws did not offer the best connection and there were no sounds riding the wind, no wildlife breaking the silence. The quiet of the entire street was alarming to one who had witnessed the laughter of children and the magic it bore to liven up a neighbourhood. With no birds warbling in the tree's and no cats prowling the grounds, Burgess looked to be a ghost town, empty and sad. 

The Pooka hopped down the thin rickety wooden steps, eyes fixed longingly on the grass, green and soft-bladed, the scent of fresh turned soil wafting up from the flowerbed and Aster pulled in a deep breath, moving closer to the inviting scent. It had been a long time since he had tended flowers, nurturing their growth and fond memories of birthing eggs white as swan feathers from tulips as brightly coloured as a perfect sunrise were enough to make his heart hunger for home, eager to return to his Warren. 

It was then, as his feet hit the worn stone walkway that led up the front steps to the house that he was overcome by another burst of magic and it was fierce enough to force him down to his belly on the granite, his head dizzy from the onslaught of colour and beauty. Sophie's belief turned from firefly to blazing pyre, tainted with sadness as it was and she was not alone, her little light challenged in brightness by another. Aster drew a slow breath, the sound of it horrifically loud in the silence as a familiar heat lit up inside of him, strong, unwavering and he could recognise it like no other because on that day, many years past, his alone had been the only light to sustain the guardians. The Last Light. The Last Hope. 

Jamie Bennett.

The realisation crest over him like a wave and he could hear his centre, his Hope like a frantic beat that throbbed through his bones. It was only as he dared open his eyes, one ear flopped long over them to rest half-wilted on his muzzle that he noticed the large paw by his head. His own, full-grown and clawed as he gripped at the ground to anchor himself. Flicking his ears up, Aster dared push himself to his feet, a steady ascent that came with the feeling off returned power as he realised it was not dream, a euphoric smile lighting up his face as he noted his full-height, the strength in every limb and the free-flow of his magic that had been suppressed in the form of a house-rabbit.

"Finally..." The stretch was a burn he could live with after so long confined, muscled arms and legs and downy fur all as it should be, save for his lack of weaponry, his bandolier long taken from him, his exploding Googie's used on those he would have preferred to keep clear of them and his boomerangs snapped before his own eyes by the same child that had imprisoned him. Ironic that the one that had done such a thing should be the one to believe, to give him back his strength and release him from captivity.

Now if he could only find the children responsible for this miracle...

With a sigh of contentment, the Herald of Spring set foot to grass with a simple step and before he could even reach to connect with the natural resources of the planet, he was surprised at the response. What had once been a lazy hum of greeting through the Earth underfoot became an immediate budding of tiny flowers, daisy seeds not yet grown drinking in the magic long denied them and he was thrilled at their reaction, revelling in the feel of nature inviting him, her pure energy lacing through his small body like an adrenaline shot, enough to reduce him, despite his stature, to a shuddering mess, the length his elongated teeth almost tucking into his lower lip from the force of it.

It felt like the rush of racing in the burrowed tunnels at the core of the Earth, fresh and invigorating, soil turned underfoot with every bound and the utter delight of speed unhindered by watchful eyes. It felt like the kindling joy that enveloped his centre when a child discovered an egg he had spent a particular amount of time on, developing colour combinations and patterns not yet used. Their smiles had inspired a great many miraculous infusions he had not considered before and he had lost count of the amount of times he had found himself at empty beaches, perfecting rough ideas by the light of the moon. Manny had been a silent comfort, company in the dark hours as the Pooka divided grains of sand just so, carving lines and loops and editing when it just wasn't right.

Bunny lifted his eyes skyward, unable to see the Tsar's satellite through the darkness of the dense cloud and it unnerved him. Locked in Jamie's cupboard, he had always believed that Manny would be there, though he could not see him. He had always thought that he would be a guiding light warding children from the horrors that awaited them in the dark. Now with the sky so obscured and not a hint of moonlight, the doubt crept in, insidious and sly, the thought that maybe Pitch had gathered more strength than he had given him credit for, that the Nightmare King had cleaved together enough force to challenge the Tsar.

Could there still be hope if such was true?

"I hope yer up there..." He murmured, green eyes scanning the overcast clouds with sadness, "We can't do this without you."

III

Sophie hit the ground hard as Pitch released her, her elbow smarting painfully as she nudged away the small rock she had landed on, rubbing at the back of her head where she was certain she had lost more than a few small strands of hair. Pitch ignored her completely as he moved forward, eyes fixed on the perfect orb of ice suspended over the gaping hole left in the frozen lake. Blue shimmered inside of it, the perfect shade of a certain frost sprite's favourite hoodie distorted by the swirls of black fed through the orb, dark sand woven like fine thread through the construction that held the younger spirit. Pitch was mesmerised by it, a face she had only ever seen in the emotional spectrum of anger to neutrality looking so hopeful she feared to know what it was he was hoping for.

The tell-tale sounds of white noise came again and Sophie scrambled backwards on her backside, hardly daring to turn away as she blindly reached out to grab at Jamie who was curled in a ball on the ground, arms wrapped around his head to protect himself. The mares were pawing at the ground, nickering uneasily amongst themselves as Sophie eased Jamie flat to the grass, laying beside him on her stomach to protect her face and throat and the high whine of cracking ice gave way to a shattering, shards of the crystallised orb ruptured into splinters of jagged black glass as they shot in every direction. Jamie whimpered under the racket and Sophie could feel the rain of harmless debris as it dropped over them, but nothing sizable came close enough to harm. 

"Jack." Pitch's voice was adoring, his robe speckled with ice like diamonds against velvet as Sophie looked up from where she lay, cradling Jamie's head to her chest and Jack...

The frost sprite was held high on the wind, head thrown back, arms and legs spread wide like a star in the air as he sank down to Earth, water stuck to the exposed skin of his face and neck like clear rivulets of glass, frozen before they could finish their course. Frost raced over his small shoulders, the tattered remains of the blue hoodie hanging like a battle-wrecked banner from Jack's spread arms, baring a thin, almost malnourished chest to the frigid touch of the air. Crystal ferns wove their way down over the darkened doe-skin that clothed slender legs and delicate fingers stretched out, the waiflike body arching back into the hold of the wind as she lowered him, the air quite still despite her presence. The ice thickened beneath his weight as his toes touched the surface of the lake, feeding on his strength to pulse brighter, to cover more ground and blue eyes opened, dark lashes flecked with snow as his arms fell to rest by his sides.

"Jack..." Sophie did not dare raise her voice above a whisper, unsure, the relief she felt at seeing the winter spirit was unharmed tempered by the unwavering sense that something was wrong. The frost that spread across the ground like a blanket moved in a way she had never seen before, sentient and searching and as the grass beneath them hardened to sharp little razors in the cold, Sophie could swear that the little curl in Jack's lip was cruel.

Bare feet steadied themselves on the lake with ease, and as Jack paused to brush the ripped blue rags from his arms to pool on the ice, he looked towards the shoreline, blue eyes eerily bright in that too pale face, made even brighter by the dark blue ribbons of his veins trailing lazy patterns down from his temples and over the arch of bleached cheekbones. Dark lines littered beneath his skin like abstract art, colouring his neck like strings of thin bruising, over bony shoulders and down wiry arms, thinning out over his chest and multiplying over his wrists and the backs of his hands. They dove beneath the hem of his doeskins and dripped in disjointed trickles over his calves and ankles.

Aside from that, Jack looked most like himself as he walked over the ice towards the bank as if it were not treacherous, not dangerously slick beneath his weight, moving in the same awkward manner of a boy used to springing everywhere, walking at a sedate pace, the light patter of the soles of his feet barely making noise against the frozen lake. 

Pitch let his eyes wander over the planes of the smaller spirit's body, eyes drinking in every line that wove itself beneath cold skin and he could feel the pull of it, could feel how much of his power fed the frost sprite, how much of his dark sand had curled in a tight fist around that beloved centre of fun, but Jack was no mere marionette, no... Jack was everything. Jamie had been the first. The experiment. The one to suffer the initial trials of prolonged exposure to the possession. A science experiment outlived its use.

Jack was almost perfect.

As Pitch turned, he felt more than saw Jack come to a halt at his side, not touching, not even looking at him, but Pitch knew what he wanted. Could feel the desperate burn of need in the boy's heart even as he looked upon his first believer with an air of indifference. 

Jamie lay curled up in his younger sister's lap, confused and frightened and as Jack drew closer, something dark burned in the human's heart. Jamie cried out as it stirred beneath his ribs, wild and seeking a way out. It felt like it reached for something, or someone, trying to pull itself out through skin and Jamie swore it felt like he was falling apart as he clutched at Sophie's shoulders. The blonde didn't know what to do, eyes wide as she stared at the spirit that had tried to help her, had told her that he would protect her from the very shadow that had enslaved her brother, "Jack, what are you doing? Please help us!"

Jack did not respond at first, his head tilting a bare half-inch in inquiry before lips pulled back from white teeth in a smile that would beautifully simulate kindness were it not for the sharpness of the curve, the lack of care, "We can't. We're hungry..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna: *fidgets a bit* ...um, yeah. BYE! *runs for the hills*


	14. The Love Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once it meant something to me  
> I find it rather stunning  
> I draped it in cold and clarity  
> It's true, I find the look becoming.  
> Walk right through me.  
> I'm not really there.
> 
> Blaqk Audio - 'The Love Letter'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna: Christ. Okay. I went a bit crazy with this chapter. I had no plan. NO PLAN! I rewrote this thing four freakin' times because I was convinced it was rubbish. Now is the time to stop, and you guys can tell me how rubbish it is instead. Ha!
> 
> I also seem to have Skype now. Bugger me if I know how to use it yet, but if anyone wants to add me so I can talk to people about Blackice without getting the crazy stares from the everyday populace then that'd be cool.
> 
> I'm at shine-razor-eyes.  
> And Tumblr too, shinerazoreyes. If any of you wanna chat about... stuff. Right! This is awkward! Enjoy the chapter!

Sophie jerked back as Jack leaned forward, intent in the drawn lines of his face and the hunger of his stare, one hand stretching forward, slowly as if to beckon a cautious animal. Sophie could see, through the blur of her own watery eyes, the estuaries of little black veins that crept down the inside of his elbow, little crescents bit deep into the frost spirit's palm, purple and glittering with broken skin and black sand and the nails on each of his pale fingers, equally blackened. 

Jamie let out a shriek in her arms and shook even as she held him, burrowing as much into the small cradle of her grip as he could, despite his size and Sophie scuffled in the grass, unable to move them any further back than they were with the Nightmare hordes holding the line at a safe enough distance. Jamie's wet clothes were cold through the dampening purple fabric of her shirt and the brisk chill of the wind around them sent shudders rolling down her spine, the warm points where his clammy palms gripped at her small shoulders in fear doing nothing to quell the goose-bumps that rode her skin.

Pitch was an ominous shadow over Jack's shoulder, face a smooth cast of amused marble, smile as self-satisfied as Sophie had ever seen it, shoulders high, eyes ever-watchful and hands folded serenely at his back, confidant in his work, "Finish the job, Jack. There is little left to stop you."

There was a beat of silence. 

Sophie held her breath, watching the sprite before her uncertainly, fingers white-knuckled around her brother, the only sound in the dark, the hitch of the elder human's breath as he curled around his roiling stomach, lips moving in what seemed to be an endless stream of pleading and yet no sound poured forth. Jamie's eyes were clenched shut and his hands trembled, torn between the need to wrap around himself and hold the struggling inside him at bay, and the need to ground himself by clinging to the blonde that held him for dear life.

White hair stirred over blank eyes as Jack finally blinked, a twitch in his cheek like a quick smirk that faded fast as he turned his head, not quite looking towards the Nightmare King, but acknowledging his words with his shift in attention, his mockery of a kind smile twisting into a grimace that hollowed his cheeks and aged him significantly. When he spoke, it was with the slow and patient condescension of a practical adult indulging a bothersome child, "We did not ask for your opinion."

His voice was strangely distorted, the surprisingly deep tone that was purely Jack Frost, playful and reckless, melded disproportionately with something bitterly cold. He sounded as if he were many at once, the echo of his cadence twisted just enough that it seemed more than one person had spoken, and that joyful touch of care, that voice which up until now had been solely the voice of Jack Frost, had bonded with something darker, something older and more malicious. Something that did not take orders. 

Sophie was shocked. 

Pitch was equally so, a step too slow in hiding the widening of his eyes and the taut line of his mouth behind that composure he'd so easily cultivated. Green eyes danced between the two, but neither moved, Jack staring somewhere off to the side, fascinated by what? She couldn't tell. There was nothing to see in the dark. Pitch was standing unnaturally still, momentarily unfocussed as if he were revising his master plans, deciding on how best to proceed after the cold rebuttal from his new... whatever Jack was to him. She tried urging Jamie up from his curled position half in her lap while they were distracted, light pats to his face rousing him too slowly for her liking and she was most definitely not trained for this, unsure as to what the proper protocol was in dealing with a rogue spirit and the Nightmare King. Middle school had no such education in exorcism or the power of belief and short of being overly fascinated with a particular series on demon hunters and wildly over-exaggerated reality shows with night vision goggles and wonky camera's, she was completely out of her depth.

The moment Jamie dared to move, responding sluggishly to the hands that pulled him, Jack's attention snapped back to them with alarming speed, a sickening crack and a shower of small ice crystals trickling down over his bare and barely moving chest and Sophie choked back any words she had to voice at the way his eyes gleamed as he watched her brother shift to his knees, Jack's stiff blackened fingers curling and stretching at his sides in hungry anticipation.

"Why do you hesitate?" Pitch's voice was melodious in its coercion, smooth, a delight to the senses and in any other situation she could see why it would seem a good idea to listen, but not now. Not here. 

Jack's brow furrowed as if he were contemplating the question, the smooth blank mask alternating between total apathy and confusion, a brief contortion of his mouth and the tensing of delicate tendons in his pale neck looking for an instant like pain and Sophie felt hope swell inside her like a wave yet to crest. Was Jack still in there?

"Why do you let him do this to you?" The words spilled out in a rush, unrevised as she fumbled to move Jamie away from the ground Jack scoured with his eyes, "He's using you, Jack-"

"Be silent." The hiss resounded inside her ear as if the mouth that spoke it was at her back and Sophie flinched as Pitch pierced her with a fierce glare. Jack looked entirely disinterested in the exchange, eyes fixed on the shaking form of Jamie Bennett (and the brief flickers of remorse she could catch in them were not frequent enough to give her hope nor comfort) as Sophie pushed him slowly behind her, cautious, as though the frost sprite were a feral cat simply waiting for opportunity to tear her brother apart. She didn't know exactly why he was looking at Jamie like that, but she could guess, and the guess was not cinema tickets and a nice Italian restaurant to follow.

Jack looked at Jamie as if he were a particularly tasty snack he had not had his fill of.

"Jack..." Pitch moved forward, ignoring the tensing of bare shoulders as he curved his ridiculously long fingers over them, stroking at the hard protrusion of collarbones with affection, "I know that you ache, that you feel... severed." A soft breath curled from Jack's lips, frosting in the air, turning vapour to mist, "You must take that which you lack to feel whole."

"You-" And the voice was solitary as Jack spoke, singular, with none of the harrowing echo that had followed before, "What have you done?"

Pitch tightened his grip, eyes narrowed down on the bare skin beneath his palms, the thin bones he could feel digging into his hands so small that the Shadowmancer was tempted to squeeze just a little and see how much pressure it took for the winter spirit to crumble. Jack responded to the touch with little finesse, tilting his head back lazily to gaze up at the man that held him, the ice that coated the back of his neck from frozen lake water thick enough to snap audibly as it broke with his movements.

"You should have stayed with me. This would never have happened." Pitch lifted one hand to cup the younger spirit's face, turning Jack to him and the frost spirit followed the guidance like a stumbling marionette, strings cut and no co-ordination, "I gave you just enough to make you mine, and yet you invited more..."

A brief flash of a menacing grin stretched Jack's face, blackened hoarfrost streaking through his hair and down the length of his arms and it glittered as though he were clothed in the finest dusting of nightmare sand, "They're whispering, whispering, whispering..." A pale hand lifted to clench unrelenting in frost-stiffened hair and Jack yanked at it as if it were not his own, only pausing as ashen fingers wrapped around his wrist tight enough to cut circulation in any lesser spirit, "They have so many voices..."

"That's right, Jack." Pitch spoke softly, as if trying to reason with a spooked animal that could not understand him, "They're not you."

The face that looked up at him was so much like the one he had often seen in the long decade of a dreamscape, surrounded by snow and a tower of twisted ice. Blue eyes lacked the sparkle of presence, pink bowed lips pursed in deep discontentment and Jack's face was bolder here, outlined by the thin veins of black that rolled and dipped with the curves of his cheeks and jaw . Pitch drew the boy into him slowly, the deliberate and unhurried roll of the winter spirits shoulders meant to disengage the hands that held him but he made no fuss as he was pressed to the elder's chest, his chilled skin spiralling elegant frostwork over the dark fabric of the Shadowmancer's robe.

Sophie rose to her feet, careful not to make sound as she watched, her hands kept low for Jamie to grasp at when he panicked as she moved too far forward and his fingers, damp from nervousness and fear, felt tacky against her skin. She could hear the intonations of mild whispers trickling in a steady stream from the Boogeyman's mouth to the rounded shell of the frost sprite's ear but the words were too quiet to pick out, a soft lulling sound sifted through with sibilance, and the way those mercurial eyes were fixed on the boy cradled, half-clad and wearied in shadowed arms made her feel physically sick.

She hadn't known Jack very long, most of the myths her mother fed her questionable at best and the way Jamie's eyes had scorched years back when he caught wind of the topic the few times their mother had dared to mention it cut down the frequency of bedtime stories, but the few minutes she had spent in his presence, tired as he had been, shocked as he had been by her belief, she could see the goodness in him, the light that lit up snow to blinding proportions. Snow balls and the beauty of each elegantly crafted snowflake were clear in his smile, selfless and lonely and so very close to breaking. 

Pitch was pressing his hands to the cracks that splintered the spirit's soul, applying pressure to split them open with the careless greed of a schoolyard bully intent on taking what he wanted and she could do nothing to help as she watched it happen, watched with sorrow heavy eyes and a leaden tongue, the manipulative duress Pitch used to pluck at the only resolve Jack had left. She couldn't hear the words, but she didn't need to. 

A good portion of her common sense told her to use this distraction as an opportunity to drag Jamie to his feet and make a break for it, but with lines of whickering mares just waiting to sink their teeth into any available source of fear, she dared not move any closer to them, desperate as they were and as Jack turned his head that fraction needed to meet her gaze, Sophie knew the attempt would be as fruitless as her breathless pleading for Jack to hear her.

Though his face was half-hidden by the Shadowmancer's arm, his eyes were practically luminous in the dark, narrowed and intent with no hint of the confusion she had seen just moments prior, the rounded apple of his cheek indicating a smile before she even saw it. He looked ravenous and deadly, cold and wild and completely beautiful despite the frenzied madness on his face and it cut her through sharp enough to give her the selfish need to move out of the way, to let his eyes find their target if only to grant her a respite from their hungry stare.

She did not.

Despite all of the horrors that she had endured at the hands of her brother, it had not been him. The demon that had corrupted him so absolutely that he could become such a heartless beast, the very same one to pour its malice into the heart of someone else that did not deserve its tenure, had not been him. It had not been his fault. It was not Jamie that had held her down, had forced those thin spindly pliers into her mouth to pull and twist at her milk-teeth. It had not been Jamie that had held her first stray kitten down in the kitchen sink as it filled with water. It had not been her brother that had lovingly laid the limp, damp lifeless body among her pillows for her to find as she came home from school.

It was every single one of those poisonous memories and countless more that turned her stomach that reminded her that she was looking into the eyes of the many shadows that had tormented her since before she could remember, blackening another pure soul, and that reason helped her stand her ground. Unsure as she was, a mortal girl, not yet twelve years old, that she could help Jack Frost, she would not leave her brother the mercy of those demons again.

Biting at the inside of her cheek to stem the guilt she felt as she ignored Jamie's soft whimper at her feet, she shook off his hands as she moved in front of him, splaying her arms out wide as a barrier and Sophie could swear, even as she continued to watch the Shadowmancer and his puppet, that her hands were alight, that something glimmered faint and golden in her periphery, like little flakes of glitter, reflecting radiance that was not there to refract. 

Pitch did not look happy even as he tried to hide the most obvious signs of it, and she wondered if that was why, if he could see the glow that trickled over her arms like a fractured beam of dim sunlight, if it was really there to displease him at all, or whether he defiance was what irked him so. Either way, the look he graced her with was laden with poorly-disguised contempt as he pushed Jack back the mere inch needed for the frost spirit to stand without support, voracious blue eyes never leaving their quarry.

"You might want to move..." Pitch's suggestion was worded delicately as his long fingers tousled the fine white hairs at the nape of the shorter spirit's neck, "Your courage does you no good here, girl."

"You can't take him again." Sophie was certain her words were strong, even as she heard the tremor in them and the quirk at the side of Pitch's mouth suggested he was amused by her, "He's still my brother, and I won't let you hurt him again."

"You misunderstand, my dear." Pitch inclined his head in a mockery of etiquette as his large hands slipped down over Jack's neck to grasp at the boy's shoulders again, the darkness of his fingers stark against the bright expanse of pale skin, "We have no need of him, rather, something he has yet to renounce. There's darkness in your brother, yet." The Shadowmancer's voice was euphonious, almost kind as it coaxed her, "Won't you let us cleanse him of it?" 

"No." She bit out the word as though it were a personal triumph, and maybe it was, after all, why should she believe him? He had not given her good enough reason to trust his word in all the time she had known of his existence, "I will not move."

Jack's face split into a wide Cheshire smile that stretched his jaw in a disturbing manner, as blinding white as the Winter he governed and if that alone was not enough to convince her of his corruption, the eldritch echo of his double-voiced laugh as it cut the silence, unearthly and cold, was more than enough to freeze her solid, "That is fine by us."

Sophie shrieked as the frost spirit leapt forward, his grin feral and the blackened veins that coast beneath his skin darkening until his wraithlike frame was segmented by them, looking for all the world like a crazy puzzle come to life as blackened fingers stretched forth and poured glittering streams of dark ice, jagged splinters that staked the ground at her feet. 

Jack himself did not get far as the long arms of the Boogeyman encircled him mid-leap and hauled him back despite the way the spirit writhed and snarled in fury, the ground between the two siblings and the two other-worlders dropping away between them, collapsing in on itself in so familiar a manner that Jack lurched back into the hands that held him, lips forming a name through the incoherence of his madness even before the tufted silver ears emerged from the tunnel.

The Pooka leapt, in all his glory, from the burrow with legs braced to the ground as if they had been rooted there and paws raised high in a kata, makeshift boomerangs carved from rough discoloured shafts of wood poised threatening in Pitch's direction. Aster looked momentarily startled as he adjusted his vision to better see through the unnatural darkness that caked in the air like charcoal dust, the air outside the Bennett's house not two streets away, clearer and fresher than the void surrounding the lake, and he only took his eyes away from his adversary long enough to locate the children. 

Sophie gazed up at him much as she had in her brief escapade to the Warren in her first years, green eyes familiar and so wide he could near see himself in them, so very hopeful that they near gleamed. The light that strained over her skin was wan, her belief like a small flickering candle inside of her that brightened the longer he held her eyes and it was astounding that she could wear it so openly, that it could be appreciated not just through feeling, but through sight as well. He doubted she could see it, but it amazed him all the same. 

Jamie was pressed to her legs, rigid as a corpse, eyes wide and unseeing as they stared out at nothing and his breathing was laboured as if he had been running. His hands were clamped around Sophie's ankle and his stomach, both, brief spasms curling him up into a tighter ball the more time passed. He was soaked to the bone, shivering like it was the middle of January and pale as a ghost, and while he appeared to be in control, Aster could feel the twist of shadow writhing inside of him, trying to dig its way out. 

As Aster turned his eyes back to the ominous shadow that was Pitch, he finally caught sight of the one in his arms. Jack. Jack who had been yanked unceremoniously under the bed into the dark. Jack, who had disappeared, who he thought he would never see again. Jack who was looking at him with eyes like a murderous tiger.

It took the frost sprite approximately three seconds to recover from his surprise, leaping forward with intent to do harm when Pitch re-established his grip around the younger's hips, arms almost long enough to wrap twice around the thin body in his grasp if they were flexible enough as he dragged Jack up against his chest and turned him away, his kicking feet a good half-meter from the ground as he spat curses and obscenities in too many languages and far older than he had any right to know of.

"You've already outstayed your welcome, rabbit." Pitch seemed calm, even as it appeared to be a struggle for him to hold Jack at bay and Aster did not move from his defensive stance even as he wanted to rip those tainted arms away from the boy he had come to grudgingly accept.

"And you've got yer grubby 'ands on things you ought not to 'ave." He groused back, ears flicking rapidly as he took in the rest of his environment, the ground still concaved before him for a quick escape if it was needed. This was exactly the sort of scene that could only be dreamt of in dark hours in the time of the Guardians, exactly the sort of thing they fought to avoid in their Golden Years. The frozen lake was a mess of cracked ice, a hole large enough for a small body at the centre and he could guess why but he'd prefer to hear actual details. The floor was strewn with ice that looked far too black for comfort. Sophie was edging closer to the Pooka, easing Jamie from his half-catatonic state as the recognition sparking inside of his chest (That's the Easter Bunny. You know him. He's real!) urged him to follow.

Jack was livid, reeling against the restrictions that bound him as he kicked to reach ground, his voice splitting into a torrent of growling noises, his once good-natured tone a monstrous distortion, mixed with many that echoed horrifically as ice swept over the Boogeyman's arms from his expelled rage.

"Unhand us!" 

Aster was stricken to hear it, even as he beckoned the children closer with a distracted wave and Sophie pressed Jamie's shaking hand into the clasp of his curled paw, his other still wielding the rough-cut boomerang high in warning. He pulled the teenager to his feet, noting the hunched back of the elder Bennett sibling as he kept one arm wrapped around his stomach, and Sophie stood to her brother's side, casting worried glances at the mares that were watching them, not daring to move without orders from their master.

Jack dug his blackened fingertips into his captor's arm, clawing and tearing as he squirmed like an angry cat, "Release us!"

Pitch ignored the rebellion, managing to work one hand free fast enough to keep his firm grip on the boy as he pressed that hand over the struggling frost sprite's eyes, his hands pressing the glitter of dark sand over the younger's face, "Not until all of you calm down. I won't tolerate tantrums."

Jack let out a horrendous wailing noise that sounded like gale force winds battering at a loose window pane as he tried to shake his head free of the sand Pitch was feeding into his system and the mostly calm night air began to spiral around them, picking up on its charge's distress. The trees began to rattle around them, creaking as the strength of the winds built up into a raging howl and Aster pulled the children closer to him to better shield them as he tugged them towards the sloping edge of the burrow, having to raise his voice for the sake of their poor human hearing, "Don't'chu worry. Everythin' is gonna be alrigh'"

"Rabbit!" Pitch sounded less than calm over the multiple storms that were brewing overhead, the winds turning cold enough to freeze cloud and a light snow began to fall, turning sleet before it could hit the ground. Aster paid no mind, Pitch too busy with his handful of whatever he had done to Jack to even pose the idea of a threat, "Don't you dare. That boy is not done!"

"Sophie." Aster leaned down a little, so she could hear him better as he openly ignored the usually velveteen voice of the Boogeyman, Jamie pressing the lean length of his body into the lagomorphs side, clutching at soft fur, as if he were afraid to look into the dark tunnel at his feet, "Don't be scared."

Sophie looked up, her gold straw hair whipping around her face like brightly coloured yarn and her eyes were more brilliant than he'd ever seen them, lit by the glow from her skin. A fearless smile was directed up at him, stunning in its own way, still girlish and young, still able to grasp that tender string of faith that made the Guardian of Hope warm inside his centre, "I'm ready."

A single leap was all it took, Sophie grasping tight to Jamie's arm, her other hand clutching at the Easter Bunny's back and the excited laugh that burst out of her as she descended into the warm dark of the Earth with her companions was swallowed by the storm as the burrow closed up after them.

An angry roar split the sky as Jack finally sagged into the Boogeyman's arms, spent under the influence of the Nightmare sand. It was likely it wouldn't affect him for long. His newfound immunity to it, what with it coursing through his veins, would probably mount to some serious issues but Pitch had bigger things to worry about at present. He swept the limp body up into his arms, Jack's head lolling loosely against his shoulder as he stared, seething at the small poesy that had blossomed where the burrow had closed. The little pink bloom was already wilting in the cold, petals curling as the storm dwindled without Jack's rage to fuel it.

Jack was not yet complete. Unhinged as he was with the Fearlings clashing with his own consciousness, the war being waged inside of Jack's body would never be settled until he had all the pieces he needed to remake the sprite anew. Jamie was vital. 

The rabbit would pay dearly for his interference.

"And you!" Golden eyes scoured the lines of his useless mares, watching with a sense of malicious pleasure as all but a few of them shifted and snorted, backing away in discomfort, "What use are you, exactly?"

Satisfied as they cowered under his anger, he turned away. He had no time to waste on them for their deficiencies at this moment in time. He had to get Jack back to the Lair before he awoke, and there was much planning to do. That useless, human boy still had a decent sized fragment of more than one Fearling inside of him and Jack would never be complete until he had them. All of them. 

No failure could be tolerated this close to success.

If he was to have Jack, heart, body and soul, there was work to be done.

They must finish what had already been started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna: Now I am really tired. Any of you still here? Hi!


	15. Fear and Loathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've lived a lot of different lives  
> Been different people many times  
> I live my life in bitterness  
> And fill my head with emptiness
> 
> Got different people inside my head  
> I wonder which one that they like best  
> I'm done with trying to have it all  
> And ending up with not much at all.
> 
> Marina and the Diamonds - 'Fear and Loathing'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna: Eeek, well I can forgive you all for pointing loaded rifles at my head. I have been stuck under massive writers block but I did my best to break it, writing prompts and snippets for my Tumblr peeps to try and keep myself inspired! So I'm sorry! And I make it up to you with over 11 pages of crazy. Feel free to yell at me in my review box~ 
> 
> Note: The first part of this chapter is Jack's POV from the last chapter. I recommend reading that chapter again before you touch this one. It will make a lot more sense. Thank you cookies!

Jack was not entirely sure what happened when his eyes opened again. Or he thought they were open. The water had been dark, pressing down from all sides like a thick tar of gravity turned solid around him, content to wash over him and leave him beneath. In the gloom and the oppressing weight of water, he could do nothing but silently panic. Jamie had disappeared, his lungs had filled to the point of bursting and there was nothing he could do to convince his limbs to propel him in the direction of air. There was no light to see by, and though the water stung his eyes he did not close them again. Someone else was there. Someone small, and familiarity rang in his head like brass bells, but all he could distinguish in that endless black was the small silhouette of a young girl draped in shadow reaching towards him from the dark, her eyes wider and brighter than the glittering gold of dreamsand. It hurt to look. He couldn't keep looking. The water glimmered with the light, refracting prisms everywhere as she drew closer and he closed his eyes again as cold hands cupped his face.

Time seemed to jump. One moment he was beneath the surface of the lake, the next, he was floating above it, some mixed up videotape memory of pressing the ice to breaking point and the wind cradling him in her gentle arms skipping like fingerprinted celluloid in his head. Nothing made sense. A new stirring in him coaxed the water free of his lungs, and it trickled from his mouth in steady pulses, freezing to the cold skin of his neck as he looked out over the frozen grounds with dispassionate eyes. They were a clustered group of misfits, those that watched him from the frosted clumps of wilting grass by the lake, a small girl gazing up with a hopeful glow of light across her rounded face and a boy curled into her as if she were, and she was, the only radiance left in the world. And...

That black cauldron of churning writhing shadows with a coaxing voice offering comfort in steady whispers. The Nightmare King. The name sent his insides into a frenzy, a need to be near, to leech into that overflowing tap of power and sap it clean that he had never really felt before. There was adoration there, hidden inside the fingers-crossed promises and the grandeur. Pitch Black, a man of feeling? It was enough to curl the corner of his mouth in a mocking smile. _Such sentiment. Such exploitable weakness._ Jack was repulsed by the thoughts that crept across the surface of his mind on scurrying legs like tiny spiders but still they came forth. _Get close, enchant, draw the shadows in and take them with greedy fingers._ So many voices that compelled him for actions that made no sense. Why would he want that?

He was touching ground before he had even voiced the need, unable to recall the descent and the grass, though frozen stiff seemed to bend away from him as though he was poisonous as he moved towards Pitch, a riot in his chest that screamed to reach out and drag the Shadowmancer beneath him, to stake claim, to tear every last ounce of his power away and swallow it down. Pitch was a menace. Too many of this own thoughts. Too many desires that overwhelmed reason. Too much chaos in the order of the shadows reign. Jack licked at the insides of his dry mouth with a cold tongue. Those were not his thoughts and yet he moved closer, hungry. Hungry for what?

His eyes travelled, a soft growling too muted to hear rattling in his throat as he looked upon the two human children again. Sophie. That was her name. How could he forget? Bedraggled and dirty as she was, her skin seemed to glow. There was something there that if he stared hard enough, seemed to surround her like a little halo emanating from her like she was a star in a black void, the only source of light. Jamie lay in her arms, seemingly in pain and he wondered why, or he tried. It was as if a hush fell over the world, no words in his ears even as he saw Sophie's mouth moving but he couldn't move his eyes from Jamie's shaking form and the whispering in his mind rose to a cacophony of sound. _Take him. He has what you need. There are more of us. We want to have you. We want to love you and lead you. We must be completed._ And he could feel the brush of his tongue against the back of his teeth as he spoke but the sound escaped him, as if it had been stolen from his lips as he dared to mouth the words. Sophie's eyes were round marbles, mirrors he could see himself in and... was that him? That dark waif-like figure that seemed to threaten with his offered hand rather than protect?

"Finish the job, Jack. There is little left to stop you."

Pitch's voice over his shoulder cultivated a sharp ache in his chest that he tried to breathe past but it felt like rock, immovable and solid and the anger that rose in him sifted through it like it was nothing but sand. Why was he so hungry? There was no room. His body seemed far too small all of a sudden, over-full as if he were one person in a crowded space with no door to lead him out and the way his face moved, muscles shifting without his motion to do so, frightened him so deeply that the tingle beneath his skin purred in languid bliss. What was that? What was happening?

"We did not ask for your opinion."

And everything was black, too dark to see through and the echoes of that distorted voice made him shiver. Something warm pressed against his waist, long fingers clawed and dark against the pallor of his skin and Jack was more than aware of how naked he was without his hoodie. Where did that even go? His breath came in gasps that poured out of his mouth in mist as more of the dark creatures slunk around him, and where was the lake? Pitch was right there, just behind him... or he was but where did he go? And there was no ground, his feet hanging idly, suspended as he was in the Void. 

_'You think too much.'_

_'Don't fight.'_

_'We will protect you.'_

The voices rose and ebbed with his harried breaths and he struggled to find a way out, a light, a sign but there was nothing in the black and he could not move, more clawed hands coming to encase him in their grip, gentle, claws making no mark upon him as they held him still and he could hear Sophie yelling, could hear her desperation in the questions she threw at him, and he tried to grasp them tightly, to use them as rope to pull himself out of the black but the hands help on, grip tightening to the point where beneath the numbness and the slick of black hands, he could feel a deep sense of wrong that hurt so deeply there was no way to voice it.

"You must take that which you lack to feel whole."

Pitch's voice seemed to meld into the shadows and the creatures inside of him writhed in agreement. _Take it,_ they urged, _the boy, the believer, he has what you need, take it-_

Jack screamed. Wrapped his arms around his head, tucked himself into as tight a ball as he could manage and he screamed as if he could cast out whatever it was that burned through him. There were shadows inside him, leaking out from the sand that coursed through his veins. Jamie. Jamie had been taken under Pitch's wing, distorted, fed shadows until his purity had melted away like so much frost on a summer's day. Jamie, who had been rinsed clean in the lake with the hope of his own untainted memories. Jack felt dizzy and sick as the shadows clung to him, weighting him down and he felt the lake-water all around him again, suffocating and intense and he dared open his mouth one last time to scream, to fend off whatever it was that clung to him and sucked at his strength when he was interrupted by the last thing he expected.

"Jack?" 

It was a soft voice. One he knew once upon a dream. One that he had not heard in over three hundred years with his own ears and as he looked up from the wooden table he lay face down upon, his hands unraveled from his hair, scalp tingling hotly at the abuse only to gaze into the warm brown eyes of his little sister. Emma was looking at him in the simplest of ways, her chestnut hair tumbling over her shoulders as she squinted at him, her voice echoing only a little as she tilted her head, "Are you alright? You look funny."

He couldn't even speak. Emma was dead. She was. It had been centuries. His memories...

But her face was perfect. The beauty mark that laced itself beneath her eye, the sway of her hair and the way her cheeks bunched as she smiled. She was almost too perfect. And the table beneath his hands was hard as he stared down past the mostly empty plate before him, able to pick out knots in the woodwork of it with his fingers. He could feel himself sat in a rickety chair, and the room around him was warm, soft candlelight darkening the tan across the backs of his hands. Tan? His skin hadn't held colour in centuries. Hadn't he been trapped in the Void? What was this?

"Jack, honey, eat your bread." 

His head turned faster than he intended, vision blurring in a dizzy cartwheel of spinning before he managed to focus on the woman sat beside him. Mother. And though her face had been just a blur the last time he had seen it, a lack of patience and a child's excitement as Emma had tugged him towards the frozen lake so he could teach her how to skate, her face was vivid to him now. The upturn of her small nose, the wearied lines creasing out from her warm eyes and the worried purse of her mouth. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out and she offered him a tired smile, her short hair choppy and uneven, as if it had been hacked at with a blunt knife. 

"I tore my favourite dress today." Emma's bright voice seemed to brush off the strange reactions of her brother, drawing both elder Overland's attention and she tipped her chair back on two legs from the table, kicking her feet with enthusiasm as their mother shot her a disparaging look, "Climbing trees. And Jack ripped his shirt but he didn't want to tell you."

A smile overtook his lips unbidden and Jack let out a muffled laugh, "You little sneak. You promised you wouldn't say anything." And Emma's smile seemed wrong somehow, the little quirk of her mouth before she grinned so cynical that it looked alien on her.

"We can fix them both. Momma can teach us how..." 

"Oh honey, we won't have enough thread for the both of you. We can fix your dress. I'm sure Jack won't mind." Mrs Overland reached over to pat Emma's hand where it lay limp on the table, urging her in quiet tones to settle all four legs of her chair back on the ground and in the distraction, Jack shifted the small pieces of bread he had left from his plate to Emma's. She never seemed to get enough food. Growing girls needed it, especially Emma. Her weak immune system was not strong enough to survive the harsh colonial winters on less than a half plate of food every night. 

"Sure we will! I went to the Bakers today and they gave me something special." And Emma was lifting a small sackcloth bag from the floor by her feet onto the table, dragging it over the wood as she stood from her chair and circled her mother to stand at her side, tugging at the strings with eager frustration and Jack was concerned at the bleaching of colour from their mother's face as she reached out to grab at the bag, "No, Emma-"

"We'll have plenty of thread." And Emma's eyes were black pits of the deepest nothingness Jack had ever seen, her smile far too cruel to be her own and all he wanted was to tear that bag from her fingers as she pried it open, pouring handful after handful of shorn brunette hair onto the table where it curled and spilled like ink dripping into the gaps of the wood, spreading across the table towards him. Emma was laughing, her voice a deeper, darker meld of many than he cared to hear and she sounded so like... so like the shadows that held him tightly in the Void, so like them that he couldn't bear to look away from her, much as he loved her, for fear of what they would do wearing her face.

"You," His voice was a whisper, "What have you done?"

 _"Jaaaccckkk~"_ She sang his name at him, as she had once from a memory box a decade past, in twisted and darkened voices that polluted the word, that made him hate it and he stood up from his chair fast enough to make himself cant forward as the world tilted, his mothers mortified face evaporating, the room around them watered down into the velvet thick black that held him before but Emma was still there, a familiar silhouette as she floated towards him. The lake. She had been in the lake. She had- but it wasn't her. Emma was gone.

"Don't fight us, Jack." She reached out with pleading hands, her smile so fractured and false that the emotion in her request was tainted by it, "Don't fight me." 

He yanked away, avoiding her touch only to feel another turn him away and he found his face pressed into the chest of the Nightmare King, his limbs his own but he didn't know what to do with them now that he could move them. What had just happened? Was that real? Was that a memory?

The familiar crackle of melting ice over lake-water woke up little parts of his mind like the filtering of little noises after a deep sleep, the grass beneath his feet both soft and hard and sensational and though the darkness around him was thick, it was not the Void. The familiar hum of a voice like melted chocolate eased at his senses, and he felt both brittle and indelicate all at once as Pitch's fingers soothed with difficulty through his frozen hair, doing nothing to block out the undercurrent of voices urging him to actions he could see behind his eyes as he blinked, "They're whispering, whispering, whispering..."

It was like having a circle of people vying for his attention, a prompt from every angle that persuaded and cajoled, and he, bound in the centre and unwilling to move in any direction, felt the pull from every single voice and it threatened to tear him to scraps. His hands fisted in his hair before he knew he'd even moved them. Had he moved them? He must have. They clenched tight in ice and silk and pulled hair enough to sting, but he did not stop, "They have so many voices..."

Pitch's comforting words were a lull he could not get himself to pay attention to, but the sound was soft and he lost himself in it, tilting his head back awkwardly to gaze up with unfocused eyes at the stern features, the heavy brow that made those eyes even more golden, the aquiline nose, the long thin line of lips that moved so sensually that he couldn't help but remember their kiss in the nigh un-navigable caverns of the Lair. It hadn't been what he wanted at the time, so hot and heavy and he felt manipulated but the stir in his gut that enjoyed it rose in him now and he bit back everything in him that needed to feel that again. To sweep away the whispers and the painful thoughts and the loss and the confusion and just press his mouth to...

No, _no no NO!_ He tried to push away. He wanted to. Something else did not, and it sifted through him like smoke, coiling high and encouraging him closer and oh god, if he could kiss that mouth. _Enchant him. Draw him down into your arms and never let him go and we can take from him. Feed us..._

Jack clenched his eyes shut as the whispers ate at him and he wasn't even sure which were his thoughts any more. The muted hunger swelled inside of him like an angry beast and he trembled against the taller spirit, knowing that Pitch too, would see him turn upon Jamie. Would see him rend him apart and steal the shadows that lay trapped inside of him clawing for their new vessel. The boy had not been completely swept clean in the lake, stained by those segments of few that that had no way out. At the mere thought of completion the shadows inside of him swarmed up en masse and Jack felt his eyes slit open just enough to gaze upon his meal. _He's right there, helpless, waiting. It won't take much. Complete us. Draw us out. Draw us in._ And he wanted. Much as he loathed himself for it, he wanted so badly to do just that. To bite and chew and swallow and feel the darkness slide down his throat. For the fight to stop. For it all to become easy again. 

Sophie climbed to her feet, unsteady and nervous as she met his eyes and her fear was both palpable and dim. She was afraid, not for herself, but for her brother and it rolled out of her in waves, like lighthouse beams straight from her heart into the open air. That fear was delicious, and yet it lacked nutrition, naked and feeble compared to ones fear for their own self. This child, this little girl dared challenge him? He quite liked that. Challenge meant a fight, meant bloodied fingers and tearing teeth, and they could do that. They had not had such good spoils in years. _Oh, we can teach her fear,_ the voices whispered.

Pitch was speaking again but Jack couldn't hear it, just the resonance of his voice, the purr of underlying menace and yes... a fission of something electric tingled along his nerves and made his mouth water. Discourage, undermine, destroy with niggling doubts and sow seeds of despair. That was the very essence of Pitch. Selfish jealousy. Practical entitlement. Give me what I want, and I may hurt you less. Play my game, and you might survive it. 

Yet Sophie stood tall as an eleven year old could manage under the wrathful stare of an elder spirit, "I will not move."

The words were strong. Too strong. Too much, and Jack tried to back into the arms that held him, tried to stop himself from leaning forward as he did. The demons inside him wanted to pounce, and the urge to tear the human girl into strips was strong enough to spill over inside him and make his hands ache as he curled them into fists. No. Not Sophie. You can't. But they wouldn't listen. And the hands were on him again in the dark, hushing him quiet and soothing him to sleep, but he would not go and as he fought, more hands joined them until he couldn't see himself beneath the sea of them.

_'We don't want to hurt you.'_

_'But we will if necessary.'_

Blinding pain streaked through his head like a gun-shot, loud and fizzling as if live wires had been pressed to wet skin and Jack tumbled into the darkness as he was wrenched from control, the shadows rearing up to suck him down and all he heard before he was locked deep into the dark prison of himself were the threat of distorted whispers given strength in his voice. 

"That is fine by us."

III

Tooth awoke to an unfamiliar ache in her spine, as the bones popped and her feathers ruffled, the precious warmth inside of her from the little believer she had come to think of as a dream and nothing more doubling in size and heat. Her wings fluttered, a scarce movement not even visible but the fact that she could feel the muscles twitch and her wings respond as they never had coaxed her scarred face into a timid smile. Is this what Bunny felt? Was this the strength of Hope?

She found it much easier to crawl up to the bars this time, much easier to find the strength in her legs to lift herself up and gaze at the hollow globe and upon it, (she had to look away and back again to make sure she was not seeing things) two lights blazed, one a healthy beacon, the other shuttered and flickering. Both in the same place. Both in Pennsylvania. 

"Impossible." Her voice croaked out, thin and raspy and she coughed a little to clear her throat and her hands clenched that much tighter around the bars as the cage began to rattle, her crest flaring as an unexpected wash of belief swam through her small, shivering body. The Tooth Queen collapsed, eyes wide as she settled her hands to the cold floor of the cage, her feathered breast heaving as she drank in air like water and she didn't understand. What was this power? Who were these children? What was happening?

Tooth couldn't find it within herself to move, couldn't suppress the gasp that rattled out of her as the Russian Doll wobbled on its wooden base across from her, the sad downcast face gleaming just a touch healthier than it had the last time she'd looked upon it and the cage shifted again, swinging on its rusty chain as another bolt of light lit her through. Her centre seemed to spark to life within her, the warmth of memories unfolding, blossoming like a flower deprived of sunlight and suddenly awash with it. The feeling was surreal, and bursting with life and joy and...wonder.

The doll toppled to its side, rolling the small distance to hit the cage wall beside her, and the painted face upon its surface, North's face, the face of the Guardian of Wonder was looking up at her with those wonderful blue eyes.

III

After too close a call encountering both Pitch and the cluster of fearlings that festered inside of what remained of Jack, Sophie's thrilled laughter echoing in the tunnels was a sound Aster had never thought he'd hear again. It rang throughout the twist of underground mazes as a long note of sound both in front and behind them as Aster raced towards the Warren, just enough light to reflect the healthy sheen on the moss coating the curving walls as they passed and highlighting the many blooms that stretched from beneath the Pooka's feet in their wake. Aster was excited to see his home, relieved that the children that clung to his back seemed unharmed for the most part, and most of all he was grateful that he had gotten there in time.

He had Babytooth to thank for that.

When she had burst out of the darkness from the bearing of the lake, he could scarce believe his eyes. She was frantic, her twittering loud and distressed as she fluttered through the air, face twisted in a painful grimace as she forced her wings to carry her. The rumpled state of them, painstakingly smoothed by gentle hands (Sophie's no doubt) had given her enough strength to fly, but only that. She had no direction, no power and she flew low to ground, dropping to it several times as she tried to stay adrift on the breeze.

Brave little soldier.

Though he could not understand her, the point of her fingers and the pleading in her mismatched eyes were enough to tell him what her voice could not and he was quick to summon a tunnel, foot hitting ground in so familiar a way, that nostalgia flooded him for a brief moment. He had left her in a soft mossy nook well below the surface as he'd sprung up from the safety of the tunnel to find the children. She was one less thing to worry about if she was secure in the underground.

Sophie's face had brightened a great deal when he had tipped the little fairy into her hands, as if the very sun was alight beneath her skin, her smile wide enough to hurt as she tucked Babytooth against her cheek in a careful nuzzle, "Little bird, I was so worried!" And the tiny creature had pressed her palms to Sophie's face with a look of such complete adoration that Aster had seized, remembering a time when Babytooth had looked at Jack with such love. He had pushed the thoughts away quickly, sweeping a trembling Jamie, who had yet to say anything, and an elated Sophie up onto his back as he charted a mental course for home.

There would be no time to think on Jack until they were safe within the Warren.

III

Detaining the winter spirit long enough to put him under the influence of the Nightmare sand had been more struggle than Pitch had anticipated and the fact that the Rabbit had successfully snatched Jack's last puzzle piece from directly beneath his very nose irked at him with a violence he had not felt in an age. This was unacceptable.

Likely the beast had taken the brat-lings to the Warren. That one place that Pitch could not follow. Sanderson had never had a particular haven, preferring to lounge in the skies and take whatever cloud for his own. The Tooth Palace had been particularly easy to locate, the buzzard preferring climates closer to the equator. The Cossack had been ridiculously stereotypical, that or the myths about 'Santa Claus' were too close to the bone. The Warren? Legend told of the myriad of tunnels that rode the Earth's crust like veins beneath skin and though he had found the entrance to many of those tunnels, he had never found the core, the root of the system. After the Pooka had been put into Baby Bennett's cage, that hadn't seemed to matter and he cursed his oversight.

Hopefully it would not be an oversight for long. Jack had been to the Warren. It wouldn't be hard for the fearlings to extract the information concerning its whereabouts from his mind, as defensible as he was capable of making it. They were inside him now and while such a sudden administration of so many at once could prove unstable, he rather relished the surprise that came with not being able to predict Jack's movements.

Jamie had been an event that had taken time, and even then he had proven unwilling and rebellious in certain circumstances. His careful feeding of fearlings and shadows had taken over three years before the boy was stable enough to use the power granted him with enough control that he could be left unsupervised but the dedication had been necessary at the time. Jack had been the intended recipient of the possession, true, but the way in which had come about was unplanned and potentially hazardous, what with the already potent supply of untapped darkness fuelling his system. Without an anchor, there was no telling how he would react to what was inside of him.

Jack had begun to stir long before Pitch was ready for it, and why should he not? With his body as a vessel for more than a decent percentage of the Nightmare sand, his adaptation towards its strength was only a matter of time. With the added force of the severed fearlings inside of him, it was a small wonder he hadn't woken up sooner, blue eyes venomous as they looked up from where Pitch had tossed the winter spirit into the nest of dark pillows, and the Nightmare King stared him down with equal ferocity, mouth a drawn line and brow furrowed in deep shadow, "You will cease your petulance this instant."

The blackened veins that patterned down the side of Jack's face seemed to throb a solid black for a single second as he rose to his knees among the cushions, a frown across his lips so very serious that it was doubtful Jack would ever display such an expression without the shadows influence. His hands flexed at his sides, much as they had by the lake when he had longed to sink his fingers deep into Jamie Bennett to pull free the last of the darkness he'd needed to feel whole.

"We were fully capable of dealing with the Pooka." Jack's many voices seemed to echo twice as long in the caverns of the Lair and his hands fisted in the cushions as they had the first time. Pitch could not decide what was more stunning. Seeing Jack then, so wholesome in his Guardian potential, trapped beneath ground with his frustration and fear painted across the air in artistic brush strokes, or now, streaked with black and eyes like daggers as though he could reach up and pull the elder spirits centre from his chest and crush it between his snarling jaws.

"You think you were, but you were charging blindly. He could have taken you too-"

"Do _not_ attempt to baby us, General." The voices that escaped Jack's lips were barely distinguishable as such as they clashed together in sibilant hissing and bitten out words, "We are far older than you..."

Pitch stiffened, fingers lengthening into blackened claws at his side as he fought the urge to reach out and tear the little upstart up by his throat until he begged forgiveness for ability to spit out such bold statements. It didn't matter that he knew that Jack was not the one speaking at present, but the words felt like brands against his mind, a title he had not used since he did not wish to remember when cutting strings inside him that held back his barely restrained temper, "I am not that man. To think otherwise would be a mistake on your part."

Jack, or the many that lurked behind his eyes, blinked lazily at him, a small shift in his expression taking him in one tiny step, from fierce anger, to a smug sense of pride, "Soft spot, Pitch-in-er?"

He couldn't help it. Red sparked across his vision and he lunged at the winter sprite, Jack slipping out from beneath him as Pitch swept down to grab at him, flitting up to cling to the uneven walls, a laugh so wholly himself and yet splintered into many different voices at the same time as he hung from the shadows of the cavern, fingers wrapped around them as if they were ropes for him to climb, so easily attuned to them in such a short amount of time that the elder spirit was almost taken aback. That was why, he told himself, when Jack bared his teeth in a warning smile before he leapt, Pitch did not think to move, charging forwards to catch the flighty creature before a solid kick to his stomach sent him sprawling inelegantly onto his back in the nest of cushions with an ungainly grunt. 

Jack moved over him in one step, light-footed in a way he had always found appealing, to grind a bony heel into his sternum, the wide slash of bare chest exposed by his robe exposing him to skin cold enough to burn. Jack's laugh lit up the cavern but it was wrong on a note that disturbed the entire cadence of it and the grin that graced his mouth was so obscene that it did not seem to fit his face as he directed it full force down at the elder spirit pinned beneath his scant weight, "Was that it?"

And it was so like Jack, so care-free and mischievous that, forgiving the melting pot of different tones in the voice, Pitch could just about convince himself that Jack was in on it. That he was playing along. That couldn't be right, he thought, staring up into eyes so clouded with shadows they seemed to move behind the blue, sentient and writhing, alight with a fierce need that slipped through his grasp as he tried to define it. 

Pitch offered the younger spirit nothing as he knocked his foot away with a backhand strong enough to unbalance him on the plush bedding, cupping long fingers behind his knee before Jack could move and pulling him down into the cushions, ignoring the many voices made one that protested as he rolled, his robe catching around his legs until he had the boy pressed into the nest by his bare shoulders, admiring how well the smaller spirit fit into his hands.

Jack looked so very ethereal in the dark, a white canvas bled through with streaks of thick paint, ancient terrors crawling through his head and hoarfrost twining dark sand through his veins and for just a moment, Pitch stopped to appreciate what he had made. The beauty of it. Cold and dark. He hadn't lied when he'd said they melded well. Jack was testament to that. And he would be beautiful. When he found his equilibrium, when he managed to coax those shadows to bind him, to unite with him as only a wilful teenager could, then he would be perfect. 

Chilled fingers tickled over the bare skin of his chest, Jack's attention drawn to where his hand was touching, circling a specific area that reminded him all too easily of what lay there. The burn mark, Pitch realised, from the hands of the younger Bennett child that had dared to touch him. A good half-palm and the length of two fingers had stamped itself into his ashen skin in a tone pale enough to resemble a human scar with no raised tissue. Jack traced the shape with inquisitive fingers, and Pitch almost relaxed into the caress as sharp claws dug into his chest and he yanked Jack's hand away, feeling the bones grind in the thin wrist as he pressed it flat to the cushions, "None of that."

And it was Jack that looked back at him this time, eyes darting in every direction as if he sought out the very shadows that lived inside him, tense as a bowstring and trembling just the same and lips parted in shallow gasps that sounded suspiciously like a whimper but couldn't be from the way those eyes narrowed at him and the wrist he held down pushed against his grip with a sudden surge of strength. Pitch shifted closer, drawn to the way that mouth opened and the voice he waited for poured out of it.

"Let me up." Jack turned his face away to swallow like something had caught in his throat, black lashes kissing his cheeks in quick flutters and all Pitch could focus on was the length of neck bared to him, the soft dip of Jack's clavicle and the delicate collar bones that stretched paper thin skin. He wanted to mark that skin, rip into it with his teeth so that when the shadows dared mock him with those eyes and that mouth again, he would have the ability to gaze upon the wound with sadistic pleasure and know that he had caged them too, in a prison of his own making.

Instead, he took a gentle grasp of the boys jaw, turning his attention away from the wall he was using as a distraction from the spirit that held him, and Jack's eyes flickered up to meet with his own fast enough for him to feel the breath hitch in the frost sprite's chest. Pitch could see it, the little cracks inside his head. Jack's face was very expressive, so very soulful and drenched in melancholy and it was only as he arched up towards him that Pitch saw just how much. Did he want...

Never one to refuse an invitation, he pressed his lips to that parted mouth and licked inside of it without teeth clamping down to refuse him and the chill sent a palpable shudder through his core that severely tested what little restraint he had. Oh, bliss... 

Jack mewled, tugging hard at the wrist that lay pinned in the cushions, trying to pull it free but Pitch wouldn't let him and as the boys other arm circled the back of his neck to pull him down into that open mouth, he let his weight fall over him, trapping one leg beneath him as Jack twined the other high over his hip to press him close. The shock of that greedy mouth, cold and enticing, and the stroke of a willing tongue unraveled him in stages, the small noises that filtered out between the mash of lips and nipping teeth enough to tempt him to consume the fey creature writhing up into his body heat. 

Jack was both soft and hard against him, the gentle fall of snow and the raging fury of the arctic as he rolled his hips up high, clawing in desperation at the elder spirits shoulders, dragging down slow against the leg stemmed between his thighs and the moan that left his throat was a pretty drawn out thing that awoke fire in the pit of his stomach. Pitch pressed down harder, near burying the slender figure into the cushions, cornering him until there was nowhere to hide except in the snare of his arms and the wet temptation of filthy kisses.

"Mine." And he pressed his lips to wherever he could reach, the rounded curve of the boys chin, the tip of a pale nose, over closed eyelids and catching on the tear tracks that stained the swell of his cheekbones, but that did not stop him. He didn't mind whatever reasoning Jack used to encourage himself to accept the advances. He didn't mind if Jack was thinking about anything but the moment, or if he was using it to distract himself from the hell his life had become. So long as he was there, spread wide and waiting for one person. So long as that person was him, he didn't mind.

As ashen fingers trailed down over the bared skin of his chest, dipping dangerously low over his stomach, Jack flinched away, stirring to unexpected life as his leg loosened from the tight coil he had bound the Shadowmancer in to kick at the cushions, trying to sit up but with no space to do so, "Stop." 

And his voice was like cracked glass, sharp and broken at the same time, the sand that had all but faded to muted trickles beneath his skin flaring up black and bold as marker lines over the flesh of his ribs as he pushed at Pitch with his fee hand.

The elder spirit reluctantly complied despite the urge in him to keep the boy down and to touch and taste until every part of himself was soaked in the younger's scent, struck by a burst of irritation when Jack avoided his gaze, pink tongue licking at his swollen lips as he slipped out from beneath him to climb from the nest, leaping into the shadows for a hasty exit and they welcomed him with open arms. It was amazing really, how well he was attuning to them and how they accepted him in turn. It would be almost alarming if he hadn't hoped for such speedy development.

He found the frost sprite sitting forlornly in a hanging cage some time later, blue eyes blank and staring at nothing with his head pressed against the bars, lips murmuring too quiet for him to hear and arms wrapped so tightly around himself he looked smaller than he ever had and Pitch wanted to sweep him up and return him to the comfort of soft pillows but he doubted the fearlings would respond well to him interrupting their delicate process so he moved away without a word. The faster they bonded with Jack, the faster he would have his Darkling Prince.

"I suppose I should thank you for your interference, bird." He couldn't help but gloat as he gazed up towards the Tooth Fairy's cage, "Without it, Jack would not have progressed as far as he has and you have only yourself to blame for encouraging him to step so far out of the realms of my control. You could have caused irreparable damage."

There was no reply and that in itself was bothersome. After so many years in the shadows, he loathed being ignored more than anything he could recall and despite how much belief he had garnered since he had squashed the Guardians near ten years past, it still rankled at him when he was not immediately blessed with the attention he so rightfully deserved. The breathing-featherbed had a lot of nerve. Pitch rose, riding the darkness of the Lair as Jack rode the North Wind, his mouth curling in irritation, "Queen as you claim to be, I would pluck every single one of your blasted feathers for cushions if do not cease your insolen-"

He had accepted many surprises since Jack had awoken, adjusted many plans to incorporate whatever challenges he hadn't accounted for with every decision made outside of his own influence. What he hadn't expected to find, was an empty cage. His roar of anger was loud enough to echo back long after he had suppressed it as he clutched at the bars, staring with molten rage at the single glimmering turquoise feather laying innocently in the bottom of the steel trap.

The Tooth Fairy and The Guardian of Wonder were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna: DUN DUN DUNNNNNN~ *jazz hands*


End file.
